Dragonborn
by MorningstarGirl666
Summary: Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. That was always how introduced himself, knowing his surname was more important and recognisable. But the name 'Malfoy' did not have the same ring to it that it used to. It had all been a lie - his heritage, his name, his beliefs, his life. Now he was someone different. Draco's world is changing around him. It's time he changed too. (Non-Human Draco, AU, OCs)
1. A Child's Cry

**Disclaimer: Cover art is by Elentori, so thanks to her for the beautiful image that fits so well with this story. Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. However, my OCs belong to me and this AU I have created, is entirely my idea.**

 **AN: I have a few things to say before you start this story. I do try to combine the best bits from the books and movies together in this fic, cause I don't want to condemn either - movies and books are completely different and people shouldn't hate one or the other because of that. It is also important to note that most of the story is from Draco's perspective. The narrative sometimes switches to other characters in order to add backstory and context (anyone who has read my earlier fics knows I love flashbacks), but apart from that it is mostly from Draco's perspective. However, that does not mean I agree with Draco or his family's prejudices. In fact, I think the character is a right brat, but I also know that, just like Harry, Draco was only a boy. He was human. This story is not meant to excuse all of what he did in the original books, or offer a redemption arc that Draco didn't receive in canon. I simply want to write from Draco's perspective, show a different side to a story that Harry's limited POV couldn't show us. Most of all, I want to show that everything isn't as black and white as it seems.** **And write an AU. Marie Kondo said if it doesn't spark joy throw it out and that's my philosophy on canon, basically.**

 **Also, I have reviews commenting on how they thought this fic might turn out to be a drarry fic. Sorry, but thats not happening. Respect to the other hp ships, but I'm afraid my otp is dramione. Though that isn't happening in this fic, it may come into this universe I've created eventually. Just forewarning y'all.**

* * *

 _To those_

 _who read by flashlight_

 _who see dragons in the clouds_

 _who feel most alive in worlds that never were_

 _who know magic is real_

 _This is for you_

* * *

CHAPTER 1

A Child's Cry

 _Malfoy Manor, 1993._

Tears rolled unwanted down Draco Malfoy's cheeks as he furiously clawed at his arm, trying desperately to tear away the albino scales that had grown there.

He stood in front of one of the tall mirrors that decorated his personal en-suite found in the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, a Wing that had been solely his since he was old enough to walk. He was only wearing a pair of thin, grey silk pajama bottoms, leaving him shirtless, his thin body doing no favours to make the distressed boy look like the powerful facade he showed everyone at Hogwarts - even his torso and arms were now covered in patches of reptilian scales. His wand was laid on top of the sink behind him, along with a thick enchantments book about Transfiguration, but they could not help him. Nothing could.

At first, Draco had thought the presence of the pure-white scales that now lined his forearm instead of skin was the result of a cruel prank that his fellow classmates had bestowed on him just before they left Hogwarts after their second year. The scales had first shown up not long after his thirteenth birthday in the beginning of June, and since then he'd tried every counter spell he could think of. He figured out how to disable the monitoring charm on his wand after his first year at Hogwarts, so the Ministry was none the wiser at his blatant disregard for Statue of Secrecy that had led to Underage Wizards not being able to use magic outside of Hogwarts.

He hadn't told his parents because, well, they were _his parents_. He knew his mother would have a right fit and he hadn't been able to stomach the idea of seeing the look of disappointment his father would give him. He'd grown quite accustomed to seeing that look cross his father's face, and nowadays he tried everything to avoid it. Not to mention the fact that his father had been sacked from the board of Hogwarts Governors after the Basilisk had been defeated, leaving his father in a fouler mood than ever before.

Now, after two weeks of not only the scales _not_ disappearing, but also spreading to other parts of his body, he was glad he hadn't told his parents.

He had figured out by then it wasn't magic causing it, not in that sense anyway. He'd noticed the way he started eating more over the past year even if he didn't put on weight, finding himself hungry more often. What alarmed him more though, was his sudden desire to eat anything containing meat, with no care for whether it was cooked or not. There were other things as well, including a heart that, judging from the sound of its rapid beat, was on the wrong side of his body for a human. Draco knew, deep down, past all his denial, his body was changing in ways that wasn't human. And that thought terrified him.

When he had woken up that morning, only to be greeted by the sight of a pair of not human, but distinctly reptilian, eyes staring back at him in the mirror, it had been the last straw. Blind with panic, he'd tried everything to remove the scales that had been the start to all his problems, but to no avail. When magic failed him, he resorted back to physically trying to claw the scales out of his skin, even going as far as to grab the silver knife he used to open wax sealed envelopes to cut away the scales. As a result, his arm was now a bloodied mess, pain ripping through his mind only to be ignored as he continued with his frantic movements, blood dripping down to the dark, shiny marble tiles at his feet, which was a bold contrast to his pale alabaster skin.

He wouldn't let his father know. He _couldn't_. Draco wasn't a fool, he knew a magical creature when he saw one, and Draco knew there was nothing human about his reflection. He was a half-breed. An impurity and disgrace to the Malfoy line.

Horrified, he let his tears fall as he tried to carve the scales out of his arm, fear twisting in his gut as the pain, tears and blood mixed together in a toxic combination. What would his father do if he found out? What was his mother say? He wasn't one of them anymore, deep down; he knew that – he wasn't a pureblood. He was becoming the one thing he had hated and feared ever since he'd been old enough to understand. He was becoming a beast. A _monster_.

A firm knock on the door startled him, making his heart sound like a drum pounding in his ears as his chest contracted in fear.

"Draco? Are you alright?" His mother's voice carried through the door. A more overwhelming kind of terror twisted in Draco's gut.

"I-I'm fine." Draco barely managed to reply, desperately trying to control his sobs and heavy breathing to lie. His mother wasn't fooled. When could he ever fool her?

"Are you sure? You've been in there an hour already, dear. Aren't you coming down to join us for breakfast? One of the house elves said you refused to leave."

Draco internally cursed. Damn house elf! He'd told it to tell his parents everything was fine! Why couldn't it listen to his instructions?

 _Because Lucius is its master, not you. It is sworn to protect you, even from yourself._ A part of his mind supplied for him, the only rational part left in his currently hysterical state.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Draco called back, his voice stronger this time. He made a grab for the knife that he'd put beside his wand earlier, thinking to hide it somewhere and then clean himself up, but his fingers worked sluggishly because of the pain and he only succeeded in knocking it to the floor where it clattered loudly against the tiles. The curses that followed from his mouth did little to convince his mother that everything was 'fine'.

"Draco? What are you doing in there?" When he didn't answer his mother, the sound of the doorknob rattling filled his ears, as his mother's voice grew more panicked. "Draco? Open this door!" She yelled through the door.

"One second!" Draco yelled back, trying his best to clean up the mess he had made, tears still staining his cheeks along with the thin trickle of blood that stained his arms. He noticed his pupils were still thin slits, just like that of a reptile.

Of course, his mother must have then remembered she was a witch as he barely had time to whirl around and place his arms behind his back when his mother stormed in, wand held tightly in her hand after using a simple unlocking charm. Unfortunately, he forgot the mirror was behind him, showing every detail of his bloodstained, scaly arms, not to mention the white scales that adorned his shirtless torso.

His mother stopped dead in her tracks at the sight, her wand falling from her numb fingers. The noise it made as it clattered to the floor was deafening, both mother and son looking just as horrified as the other. Seconds later, his mother had brought her hand to her face, her eyes wide as tears welled up at the sides.

"What have you done?" She uttered so softly, so brokenly that it caused the dam that was Draco's emotions to break.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I-I'm so sorry." Draco didn't meet his mother's eyes, sobs beginning to rack his body yet again. "I'm turning into a _monster_."

"Oh Draco..." His mother instantly strode forward then, her expression looking so pained and horrified in that moment. She instantly enveloped Draco in a crushing embrace, both of them sinking to the floor as Draco sobbed into her chest. His blood was staining her robes, but she didn't seem to care. She only cared about _him_.

"LUCIUS! Lucius, come quickly!" She screamed, obviously seeking help but Draco didn't want his father to see him. Draco started to cry harder.

In the end, his mother sent a house elf to fetch his father since even if you used a sonorous spell, it was doubtful his father would hear her from the Manor being so big. When he finally did arrive, a small house elf right at his side, he froze in the doorway much like his wife had done.

It must have been a sight to see with the black bathroom tiles pockmarked by specs of blood, large tomes and the knife laid next to the sink while his scaly-skinned son sobbed into his wife's robes.

"Lucius." His mother was crying too by that point, her tearful eyes meeting the stunned gaze of her husband. Draco didn't look up, fearful of what he would see on his father's face.

"Draco." His father called out, softer than he predicted. Draco didn't answer; instead he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head against his mother's chest as his body trembled.

"Lucius, he's scared." He heard his mother say. There was a long silence before his father spoke again. The unspoken 'he's scared of you' hung heavy in the air.

"Draco, look at me." His father asked again, in a firmer tone that Draco knew not to disobey.

Slowly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, only to come face to face with his father, who had since moved from the doorway and was now kneeling in front of him, beside his mother. To Draco's surprise, his father didn't look angry or disappointed. He didn't sneer in disgust. His expression only showed concern – concern for his son.

"It's alright, son. It's going to be alright." His father reassured, saying the very words Draco so desperately wanted to hear.

For the first time he could remember, his father pulled him into a crushing hug, much like his mother's, and Draco didn't protest. He'd never cried in front of his father, at least not since he was a toddler, but that didn't stop him now.

"Draco, can you stand?" His father asked. Draco simply nodded, not trusting his voice. He didn't question his father's kind tone either. "Good. Come now, Draco."

With help from his father, Draco carefully stood up, and before he knew it, his father had led him out of the bathroom and into his large bedroom that was decorated in royal blues, silvers and pitch blacks. Behind them, his mother barked orders to the house elf; Draco feeling far away as he barely heard his mother give orders for an owl to be sent, to whom he didn't catch.

When his father told him to lie down on his bed, he didn't argue and carefully laid down, wincing as he finally laid his arms down too. His father didn't seem to care that blood was quickly staining the sheets.

"Drink this, Draco." His father ordered, pushing a small vial containing a thick liquid to his lips. "It will help with the pain."

Draco didn't object and drank the whole potion without really thinking. It did numb the pain but within seconds he was feeling drowsy, making him realise that maybe it wasn't just a pain relief.

The last thing he saw was his father hovering over him, also barking orders to both the house elf and his wife, a frown on his face, before Draco finally succumbed to the blissful darkness that was known as sleep.

* * *

When Draco finally woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pain in his arms had disappeared. His eyelids fluttered as he came round, eventually managing to sit up in his large king-sized, four poster bed. It was then that he was able to take in the appearance of his room, and therefore realise he was completely alone. An ornately carved wooden chair had been brought to the side of his bed but no one was sat there, and the rest of the room was likewise empty.

Seeing such a scene made him think it had all been just a dream, that none of it had happened, but he looked to the side where his bedside table stood, and saw a dozen vials placed upon it, all with different labels. From their titles, he was able to recognize them as healing potions, which then reminded him of his arms.

Looking down, his eyes met the albino scales that covered his right arm completely now, but to his shock, not only was there no blood, but it had completely healed. The scales he had managed to pry away had grown back, both his arms showing no signs anything had happened at all.

He swallowed uneasily, his stomach feeling sick once again. He didn't like the feeling of fear that flooded his gut.

Draco pulled the covers away from him, slowly swinging his feet to the polished wood flooring. He rubbed his face with his hands to not only rub the sleep out of his eyes, but also to try and diminish the pain in his head that he was now very aware of.

Taking his time to make sure he didn't faint from getting up too quickly, Draco stood up and made his way out of his room. His torso was still bare, so he quickly found a shirt to put on before he left. He paused when he noticed his reflection in one of the Georgian styled mirrors that hung on the walls, a pair of reptilian eyes still staring back at him. He recoiled from his refection, hurriedly backing away and rushing out of his suite, as if trying to escape the truth he was faced with.

Silently, Draco began to make his way downstairs, creeping past the sleeping portraits that hung on the walls in the corridors. He was thankful the portraits weren't awake. He didn't think he could cope if they had started screaming at the sight of his animalistic appearance.

When he arrived at the grand staircase that connected the East and West Wing, he carefully descended the stairs to the first floor; mindful of the certain steps that he knew from experience eavesdropping on his father's conversations creaked under his weight. Voices could be heard coming from the parlor, so Draco headed straight towards it. It was only as he drew closer that he managed to clearly make out the words.

"What happens now?" He heard his mother ask, at the same time a clink of china echoed of the walls, indicating a tea set had just been placed on the table, no doubt by one of the house elves. Whoever was inside the parlor with his mother hadn't been in there long, if the newly arrived beverages were anything to go by. Their departure from his room must have been what woke him up.

"He's close to the change, Narcissa." He heard an unfamiliar male voice answer. "There are many things that are going to happen. I think it might be wise if I stay here for a while, or he stays with me."

"That's just absurd." That was definitely his Father. "Draco can stay here."

"Yes, because that's worked _so_ well up to now." The same unfamiliar voice drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Although Draco couldn't see his father from his position, he could still practically feel the glare he sent at the unknown guest.

"I raised him. I think I know perfectly well how to look after him." Lucius ground out.

"Oh yes, you're perfectly right, Lucius - my deepest apologies. I just didn't realise that filling his head with pureblood supremacy bullshit is the best way to prepare him for the day when you actually tell him he isn't a pureblood at all." Draco's eyes widened at the man's words, knowing that they were talking about him.

He gulped, trying to fight the unease and horror in his gut. He had been right. He wasn't a pureblood. He wasn't superior, but inferior in every way. Draco felt sick.

"Boys, stop it! What's done is done. Atlas, you told Lucius to give Draco a choice and he has. As for you Lucius, maybe you should listen to what Atlas has to say, or do you not care about our son's wellbeing at all?" That was his mother again, always the one to bring back order into the conversation. However, her comment only served to open another can of worms that made Draco's blood run cold.

"But he's not my son now is he, Narcissa?"

"LUCIUS!" He heard his mother yell in anger, but by that point Draco had already stopped listening. Instead, one thought, and one thought alone, was ringing inside his head like a pounding church bell, demanding to be heard.

He wasn't a Malfoy.

And in that single moment, Draco felt his whole life shatter into a million jagged pieces. He wasn't a Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy. He wasn't a pureblood - he wasn't one of _them_. Everything he had known, everything he had believed, was a _lie_.

Not wanting to hear anything more, Draco ran for the stairs, not caring if they heard him leave. And for the first time, Draco truly understood. He understood why nothing he did ever seemed to make his father proud, why he had rarely seen any affectionate contact from the elder Malfoy.

After all, how can you love a child that isn't yours?


	2. Deal With The Devil

**AN: So... you're still here, huh? Hope you loved the first chapter. Lets begin this story for real then, shall we? And for that, we're going to have to go back to when it all began...**

* * *

 _I have walked a stair of swords,_

 _I have worn a coat of scars._

 _I have vowed with hollow words,_

 _I have lied my way to the stars._

 _\- Songs of Sapphique_

* * *

CHAPTER 2:

Deal With The Devil

 _Malfoy Manor, 1979. 14 years earlier._

Lucius Malfoy stared impassively at his reflection in the mirror in front of him, his own grey eyes staring back. Slowly, he looked down to the piece of parchment he clutched lightly within his left hand, yet again reading the words written by the Healer that had sent him it.

 _Mr Malfoy, it is with deep regret that I inform you that you cannot sire children and have been born infertile. Many treatments are available to combat this condition, but success rates are low and therefore so are..._

Lucius suddenly crushed the piece of parchment with his hand, savagely tearing it into pieces and throwing it into the fireplace that stood to his right. He furiously muttered a spell, igniting the fire that quickly devoured the remaining pieces, glaring at the flames that reared up in fury.

Lucius believed in many things. Reputation, magic, wealth – they were all things that made him who he was. Growing up, his father made it very clear that Lucius was triply special: firstly as a wizard, secondly as a pure-blood, and thirdly as a member of the Malfoy family. Magic and wealth was his birthright and his reputation - and the reputation of his family - was ten consecutive centuries in the making. It dated all the way back to when Armand Malfoy first arrived in Britain with William the Conqueror as part of the invading Norman Army.

For all his connections with people in high places and knowledge from the darkest parts of the Malfoy Library, he was still powerless to change fate. And fate, in this very different sequence of events, could be a very cruel man indeed.

He knew he shouldn't be surprised. Over the last decade, many pureblood men and women were being born with fertility issues, finding it harder and harder to sire children. Many of Narcissa's friends had already been through severe miscarriages and her own sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, had been recently informed that she was unable to bare children. Lucius had to give her credit, even when she was shamed for her infertility, Bellatrix was not defeated, rising up as one of the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eaters - and the most dangerous. However, that incident was not the same as his situation. The Lestranges may be purebloods, but they were nothing when compared to the Malfoys. His family may as well be wizarding royalty and would have been muggle royalty too, if his ancestor, the first Lucius Malfoy, hadn't failed in winning the hand in marriage to Queen Elizabeth I.

If he could not sire a child, specifically a son, his world would fall. All the respect, the power and prestige he and the rest of his ancestors had worked so hard for would be for nothing. He would be the last Malfoy, yes, but he would also be the first disgraced one. And if that became true, he'd rather die.

Malfoys never lose. Elizabeth I had learnt that the hard way, suffering from a jinx for the rest of her life that prevented her from ever marrying anyone else. One way or another, Malfoys always won, even if they had to lose the battle to win the war. And it was with that mindset that Lucius thought of a plan, a foolish plan that could get him killed, especially in such times. The Wizarding War was still raging and the Dark Lord was just as powerful as ever, yet The Order of the Phoenix still refused to die. But it was the only option he had.

Lucius looked back at his reflection, his face now set into an expression of steely determination. He swept out of his study, his robes flowing behind him as he strode through the long corridors. As he approached his personal wing of the Manor, the wing he shared with his wife, Lucius slowed his pace. After entering their suite, Lucius quietly headed for the door to their bedroom. He slowly turned the doorknob, carefully pushing the door open just a crack so he could see inside. The moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the closed curtains, cascading onto Narcissa's blonde hair as she slept, sheets drawn up around her. Just as he had left her. She was safe.

Lucius swallowed. This had to work, for her if not for him. He could never deny her anything, least of all children. Closing the door once more, Lucius retreated, careful not to wake her upon his exit. He grabbed his cloak and Death Eater mask on the way out of their suite and put them on quickly, once more weaving through the twisting hallways of the Manor. He descended the grand staircase to the ground floor, not even stopping to notify an elf of his absence. No one could know where he was going. Not unless he wanted to be labelled a traitor.

As soon as Lucius was out the doors, he apparated. Where he reappeared however, was a whole other story. He knew it would be unwise to directly apparate to his destination, for he had no idea what to expect. Instead, he apparated to the edge of the border of the estate, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he was suddenly assaulted by torrential rain. Lucius was now further north, far away from Wiltshire, the countryside of Yorkshire to be precise.

Lucius glared up at the stormy sky though the eye holes in his mask. He pulled his wand out of his robes and began the long walk to the estate on foot.

After several minutes, Lucius found the gates to the estate he was looking for. They were much like the Malfoy Manor gates, yet instead of completely pitch-black iron, the tips of the iron rods were painted gold, and golden painted iron dragons encircled the hinges. The house crest was welded to the gates in similar gold paint, while huge black marble dragons sat atop the stone pillars that connected the gates to the boundary walls, acting as silent sentinels for the estate entrance. Lucius knew the sculptures could be animated to life with a few simple words from the estate owner, the magic running deep within the house and its grounds. The gates themselves could not be opened, visitors only entering by passing directly though the iron gates once the ward was lowered by either the visitors or the owners themselves.

Or at least, those were the gates Lucius expected to see. Instead, he was met with a shocking sight.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the broken marble statues of the dragons, reduced to rubble that now decorated the chipped stone pillars that were clearly in a severe state of disrepair. The iron gates themselves had been torn from their hinges, one bent and pushed inwards while the other was further up the gravel drive, the gates looking like they had been blown away with magic. Lucius swallowed the unease in his throat, recognizing Rosier's work when he saw it.

The manor-keeper's house could be seen behind the gates, but barely. No smoke came from the chimney, and the little lattice windows were dark, no light coming from inside. He slowly approached the place where the gates were supposed to be standing straight, placing his feet carefully to avoid losing his footing among the marble and stone rubble. Once he reached it, he slipped his wand back into his robe pockets, before slipping off his black glove. Lifting up his now exposed hand, the stormy wind cold against his skin, Lucius slowly placed his palm against an invisible wall. What he was searching for was instantly revealed, the wards of the estate still active, electric magic burning him for the brief moment his hand was there. He recoiled quickly, hissing as the magic scorched his skin.

After shaking his hand to get rid of the pain, Lucius placed his glove back on, backing away from the ward boundary that had confirmed his suspicions. During the Death Eater attack, the wards had been dismantled as the Death Eaters broke in. Ever since then, the estate had been thought to be abandoned, a first glance showing the gates had never been repaired. But Lucius knew better, and just because his moronic comrades didn't think to check if the wards had been rebuilt didn't mean he wouldn't. And if the wards were back up, that meant it wasn't as abandoned as the other Death Eaters believed.

Grabbing his wand one again, Lucius raised it and pointed it at the empty air where the ward boundary stood. He knew the spell that lowered these particular wards, had been given the secret to it what felt like years ago, and with a flick of his wand and a few words, the wards fell briefly, giving him just enough time to pass through.

Lucius watched as the wards immediately rebuilt, swallowing hard. Apparating was now impossible. If things turned south, his only escape route was through those gates. His grip on his wand tightened, scanning the area around him. The manor-keeper's house was to his left, his view of it much clearer. He could only see the outline of it before, but now he could see there was nothing left of it but burnt timbers and broken brick walls. Grass was already crawling up through the cracks in the burnt floorboards, ivy suffocating the walls and rubble. The little lattice windows, which he remembered had been painted a beautiful ivory white, were charred and rotting.

The drive wound away in front of him, twisting and turning like it had always done, but just like the manor-keeper's house, it had changed. It was narrow and unkept, and the dark woods crowded the borders of the drive, the gnarled, naked limbs hanging overhead ominously. Lucius had to bend to avoid a low swinging branch as he strode onwards, his footsteps becoming more tentative by the second.

Finally, the trees and monstrous shrubs parted to reveal Ambrosius Manor. Lucius slowed to a stop and removed his Death Eater mask, arching his neck to take in the sight before him. Ambrosius Manor towered overhead, standing as majestically as he remembered it. The Manor had never been as dark and daunting as his own gothic styled home, Lucius always seeing it in a brighter light. However, with the rain thundering down and the lightning flashing in the sky, the once illuminated windows now dark, Lucius had to reassess his evaluation of the place he had once called a second home.

Clutching his wand tighter, Lucius silently made his way up the steps to the double doors. Unlike the gates, they were undamaged. The door-knockers still hung proudly upon the white wood, black dragon heads holding the metal rings in their mouths. He pushed them open, wincing as the doors groaned loudly at the movement.

The interior of the house was darker than outside. Lucius raised his wand higher as he muttered a Lumos and created a few wards, in case of an attack. He had no idea what could be here, even if he could guess _whom_. One of the chandeliers had fallen to the floor, glass littering the once polished wood, the jagged pieces reflecting the light of his charm. The grand staircases to the east and west wing loomed on either side.

Whispers of deeply buried memories flooded through him as he stared at those intricate staircases, the wood just as ornately carved as he remembered it, images of carved magical creatures leaping across the banisters and dancing on the rail.

" _C'mon Lucius, it'll be fun!" The brunette boy shouted, heading for the banister at the top of the staircase._

" _Are you sure you were sorted into the right house, Atlas? Maybe Gryffindor would suit you better." A younger, thirteen Lucius Malfoy teased, grinning at his companion as he followed him._

" _Oh c'mon. If anything, it would be Hufflepuff as a second choice. Gryffindors are just a bunch of arrogant foolhardy idiots with cabbages for brains. I'm hurt you'd ever think such a thing, really, I am." Atlas placed a hand over his heart, putting on a betrayed face, even though his tone was joking and a smirk had already replaced the hurt look._

" _Is this even safe?" Lucius asked as the boy sat on the banister, readying himself to slide down. Lucius copied him, but instead chose the banister that was on the left side of the staircase attached to the wall so that a ten-foot drop was not next to him, unlike with the other boy._

" _Don't tell me you've never done this before?" The boy asked, disbelief and a touch of a teasing note to his voice._

" _I haven't actually. Doubt my father would approve." Lucius replied, his face turning solemn for a second. Atlas was quick to change that._

" _Good thing he isn't here then, right?" The boy grinned, Lucius sending him a matching one back. Both boys turned their heads to the bottom of the stairs, readying for the short race that was about to commence. "Ready, Malfoy?" Atlas asked._

" _Are you?" Lucius shot back, sharing another brief grin with Atlas._

" _3...2...1...Go!" Atlas yelled, instantly taking his feet of the stairs and letting gravity slide him down the banister. Lucius was quick to follow, letting out cheers of excitement just as much as the other boy was, laughing all the while._

Lucius could still hear that laughter. It echoed off the walls of the house, traveling through its corridors and rooms. The sound of banging doors brought him back to reality, the wind blowing the doors inward against the walls, making him flinch. He couldn't stay here. He needed to keep moving, less he lower his guard.

"Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me? Is the great Lucius Malfoy gracing me with his presence?"

Lucius froze. He knew that voice.

Spinning round, Lucius' eyes landed on a figure that stood on the balcony overlooking the foyer, leaning against the wooden banisters. The figure was masculine in outline, and although it was dark and the light from his wand did not reveal the features of the man's face, Lucius was sure he could see a familiar smirk stretching across the man's expression.

Lucius stood up straighter, wand raised, as he watched the figure push himself off the banister before he began to slowly descend the stairs.

"You do realize you're trespassing, Malfoy." The man stated. He hadn't drawn his wand. His calm confidence, which at one time was charming, now was unnerving, the man descending the stairs at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. Lucius' heart raced inside his ears.

"You look awfully healthy for someone who is supposed to be dead." Lucius commented, lowering his wand slightly, faulting.

"Yes, well, fortunately it didn't stick." He waved the comment away, reaching the bottom of the stairs now, his eyes still not breaking away from Lucius' gaze. "Why are you here? Better yet, how did you find me?" He asked.

"You want to know how I knew to look for you in your own house?" Lucius asked in his usual mocking drawl.

"The Death Eaters, along with the rest of the world, declared this place abandoned." The man stated in a clipped tone, eyes narrowed on the Malfoy in front of him.

"Yes, because they were too scared to go past the gates." Lucius pointed out, a Malfoy sneer curling up his features into an ugly expression. He paused before he spoke again, his expression returning to forced neutrality as he finally lowered his wand completely. If he wanted him dead, Lucius knew he would have been dead already. "We were friends for over seven years, Ambrosius. You learn a thing or two."

"What do you want?" Ambrosius snapped abruptly.

"What makes you think I want anything from _you_?" Lucius sneered.

"Oh, don't play games with me, Malfoy. Out of the two of us, it was always you who needed me more than I needed you." Ambrosius growled, eyes sparking with fierce fury and bitterness. Regretting his use of tone, Lucius's expression softened, sorrow and guilt flashing across the man's normally impassive features.

"Atlas, if I had known what he was planning I –"

"You would have done what, Malfoy? Defy the Dark Lord? _Really_? Do you expect me to believe that?" Atlas Ambrosius snarled like an animal and suddenly his eyes morphed, glowing as if they were made of fire before the light receded, revealing different eyes from before. The pupils had changed to reptilian slits, the black slits bold against the larger iris that was a fierce yellow, like orbs of hellfire. The sight made Lucius recoil. He was the only one who knew Atlas' secret, that he wasn't human. It suddenly occurred to Lucius that Atlas could kill him and not only would no one ever know how he had died, but Atlas probably wouldn't even need magic to commit the act.

"I'm not stupid. It's the reason you're alive. A word of advice, Malfoy: leave, before I change my mind." Atlas warned, turning and making his way back up the stairs.

"Ambrosius, wait!" Lucius rushed forward, coming to stand at the foot of the staircase. He was desperate - he needed Atlas to listen, just one last time. "Listen to me!" He hissed, trying not to sacrifice his pride by begging. However, ever with a harsher tone lining the words, it was clear he was desperate. Atlas stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around. Lucius took the chance he had been given.

"You are right, Ambrosius. I do need something." This time Atlas did turn slightly at hearing Lucius's softer words, frowning down at the man below him. Lucius took it as a signal to continue.

"Atlas, we were friends once. I'm not ashamed to say that. You were a brother to me, even if we share no blood. We may have been destined for different paths and when it came to what we believe in, we sure as Merlin don't get along," Lucius paused, trying to take the anger out of his voice when memories of their arguments erupted in his mind. "but we were loyal to each other. I could never die for you, which is what would have happened if I had sought you out, but I would have done _everything_ else." Lucius declared with passion, anger and bitterness leaking through even when the feeling of platonic love for the man he once called a brother still lingered, distant but not yet lost.

"Why are you here?" Atlas asked again, the frown not leaving his face as his body remained rigid with hostility.

"I need...your help." He forced out, as if it hurt to say. Lucius swallowed, silencing his prideful ego. Atlas raised his eyebrow in obvious surprise.

"What kind of help?" Atlas queried, curiosity controlling his mouth but he managed to portray it as suspicion. Lucius saw through the facade, having learnt throughout their time as friends what certain expressions meant when it concerned Atlas Ambrosius.

"I need a son." Lucius answered, locking gazes with Atlas. The only Ambrosius heir frowned at the declaration, but then a smirk quickly overtook his face. A smirk Lucius knew all too well.

"I doubt you'll find one here. Maybe go back to your Manor, Malfoy, I'm pretty sure it's the sort of thing you need to talk to Narcissa about. Nice warm bed, maybe make the room romantic with some candles so that your wife can forget for at least a second that the man she's sleeping with is a cold-blooded murderer." Atlas sneered, mockery lacing every word.

"If I'm a cold-blooded killer, what does that make you?" Lucius coldly counted, eyes narrowing as he continued. Atlas' dragon eyes flashed, his jaw clenching.

"Does she know you're here?" Atlas demanded. Lucius paused before answering.

"No."

Atlas' eyes lit up with something that resembled triumph. A dark smirk slithered its way onto his face.

"Oh, well I take it back. I doubt Narcissa will be in the mood for romance if her husband is sneaking out in the middle of the night. Wives are like that – they get all suspicious and hormonal." Atlas gave Lucius a fake smile, already starting to turn away. Face contorted into a vision of fury, Lucius raised his wand, firing a spell that barely missed Atlas' shoulder, blasting the wall to the side of him instead. A black scorch mark was left where the spell had hit the wall, Atlas staring at it in shock. It was only when he regained his wits did he turn back to look at Lucius, who was by now shaking with barely concealed rage.

"Narcissa is not the problem and I certainly don't need advice on pleasing _my_ wife." Lucius spat the words out, leering forward to speak. All emotion had been erased from Atlas' face by this point, although his eyes had narrowed on the Malfoy Lord.

"Then why are you here? Why come to me? We're not friends anymore, Lucius. We are on different sides of this war - _remember_?" Atlas questioned, voiced raised in anger. He snarled, marching down the steps. "What could make you so pathetically desperate that you would come to me for help?" Atlas snarled, stopping inches away from the Lucius' face, tension crackling between the two men like lightning striking in a thunderstorm.

"BECAUSE I CAN'T SIRE CHILDREN!" Lucius yelled, fists curling at his sides, knuckles turning white as he clutched his wand. Atlas seemed to flinch, if in fear or shock Lucius had no idea. Seconds ticked by as silence crept in, Lucius only continuing to speak once he'd taken a deep breath and calmed himself down. "I'm infertile. The Malfoy bloodline ends with me." He finished in a quieter voice, finally meeting Atlas's shocked gaze.

"Oh." Atlas breathed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Oh? That's all you have to say, Ambrosius? Are you even surprised?" Lucius asked incredulously as Atlas backed away.

"Well, you can't exactly blame me for not being shocked, Lucius. The amount of close relation unions in your family makes it a lot more likely for these types of...conditions. You should be grateful the Malfoy line has lasted this long." Atlas reasoned, slipping into old habits of familiarity as he frowned at his old friend.

"Lasted this long..." Lucius trailed off, barely believing what he was hearing. "Ambrosius, I am the Malfoy heir! It is my duty to produce the next Malfoy!"

"And that is my problem because? Leave, Lucius. I don't have time for petty problems." Atlas turned around, as if to attempt to leave once again and escape the situation.

"Is that your choice? You're just going to walk away?" Lucius yelled after him.

"Goodbye, Lucius." Atlas didn't turn around as he spoke, a final dismissal. Lucius snarled.

"You told me once Dragonborns value family above all else. You're the only Dragonborn I know, but if this is an example of loyalty, I don't believe your kind know the meaning of the word." Lucius spat.

Altas stopped dead in his tracks.

Lucius knew the moment he spoke those words they had been the wrong thing to say. Atlas whirled around, the tempest of rage within his eyes banging on the walls of his mind, demanding to be released. The dragon eyes only exaggerated the animalistic snarl, a growl rumbling in his throat, stalking up to Lucius with revived vengeance.

"FAMILY? You dare question _my_ loyalty, Malfoy?!"

"You said once blood is never concerned when it comes to family. Last time I checked, we share no blood." Lucius sputtered out frantically, backing away as Atlas advanced, this time with the intention to kill. He stopped inches away from Lucius' face, grabbing the wizard's robes in one balled up fist. However, Lucius' words gave him pause.

"Quite hypocritical words coming from a pureblood like yourself, don't you think Lucius?" Atlas retorted after a few moments, narrowing his eyes. He glared a Lucius, but it was calmer now and more reserved, a kind of deep sorrow that Lucius had never seen before engulfing the atmosphere around the man.

"This is different. The muggles and mudbloods don't deserve magic. However, they do deserve everything the Dark Lord has planned for them." Lucius ground out, stopping short when he saw how Atlas' eyes had dangerously narrowed, warning him to be careful about what he said next. His jaw had clenched harder at Lucius' utterance of 'mudblood', reminding Lucius that they were very different people, with very different beliefs. It never used to matter, but now, surrounded on all sides by war, it was _only_ thing that did matter.

"But this isn't about magic," Lucius continued, quickly redirecting the conversation to the problem at hand. He couldn't waste time arguing. "it's about _loyalty_."

A silence enveloped them both as Atlas thought his statement over. His stillness unnerved Lucius, deafening in the absence of Atlas's previously enraged state.

"Even if I did help you, what makes you think I can do anything?" Atlas queried, not saying yes or no. It was a very Slytherin choice of words. Lucius swallowed his annoyance.

"Legends say Merlin had control over life and death. As his descendent, I would have thought he would have passed on the information." Lucius drawled, unimpressed with the act of innocence. He knew Atlas was powerful, more skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts than he was, with an even wider knowledge of magical creatures. Lucius may have been better at potions, but Atlas had repeatedly surpassed him in other areas at Hogwarts. The truth was, the Ambrosius family shared both blood and surname with one of the greatest wizards of all time – Merlin. Atlas didn't boast about though. Never had and Lucius doubted he ever would. When he mentioned it then, Atlas even rolled his eyes.

"And if you remember correctly, I told you I had read all his journals and although brilliant, the old wanker was a complete nutcase. He described a run in with a cockatrice, a creature that is a renowned wizard killer, as the most 'hilarious experience that he would have to repeat before he died'." Atlas jabbed a finger at Lucius, walking past him to the door to another room.

"Merlin did pass on the information then." Lucius called after him, following Atlas out of the hall. A fireplace stood on the furthest wall, a huge painting of Atlas' father still hanging on the wall above it. It didn't move, unnerving Lucius immensely, especially since he knew what fate the elder Ambrosius had befallen. It looked like it was peering into his soul.

The rest of the room was equally decorated with luxurious furniture and ornaments, made from the most expensive materials money could buy. It was a harsh comparison to the trashed hallway just outside, everything in pristine condition and order. Atlas waved his hand as he entered, the candles that stood on side tables and shelves bursting into life. Lucius whispered Nox, no longer needing his wand for light. The warm glow of the candles cast Atlas' sharp features in shadows, the fire leaping to life just as Atlas fell into an armchair, pouring himself a tumbler of firewiskey. Lucius raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that the man had never been a drinker. At least, he never had been before the war.

Atlas drowned the glass in one full swoop, bashing it down on the table beside him. He let out a deep sigh, before finally responding to Lucius' earlier comment.

"Power over life and death isn't something wizards, or even the average Dragonborn can achieve, Malfoy." Atlas met Malfoy's gaze, eyes hard once more. "It's an Ambrosius gift that has been passed down through the generations – it's the reason why we were High Kings and Queens of our people and still are. The other six Dragonborn Royal families have _nothing_ on us."

"Does that mean me you can help me?" Lucius asked, both listening and ignoring Atlas at the same time. All he wanted to know was if there was hope for him. Atlas seemed to want to draw it out for long as possible, almost as if he dreaded giving Lucius a straight answer.

"I could give you a son. But that magic is powerful, it's neither light nor dark because it is simply nature – she is in the one in control, I'm merely asking permission." Atlas waved his arms about, a habit that Lucius learnt long ago to expect from the man when he was explaining something.

"What do you have to do?" Lucius questioned, trying to get the answer he needed. His impatience seemed to frustrate Atlas, as the man's glare only intensified.

'You're not listening, Malfoy." Atlas growled. "Magic like that, it demands a price – it demands balance. That's what Dragonborns believe, what _I_ believe in. Balance keeps the world spinning -you can't have light without darkness, just like you can't have life without death. I can give you a son, but..." Atlas trailed off, paling significantly as he poured himself another glass of firewhiskey. A terrible unease spread through Lucius' gut.

"But?" Lucius prompted, dreading the answer. Atlas swallowed the alcohol, closing his eyes in pain as he spoke, his words barely above a whisper.

"...but Narcissa would die in childbirth. That would be the price."

A long silence followed. Lucius gulped, both men avoiding each other's eyes. They may have had their disagreements in the past, but they had never disagreed when it concerned protecting _her_. Narcissa had been the only person other than Atlas that Lucius had ever truly cared for, even loved.

"Is there no other way? There has to be something else, Ambrosius." Lucius hissed, angry now. Atlas had always been his saving grace, the person he turned to when he could no longer fight alone. Although those days were over, old habits die hard, and Lucius wasn't prepared to see someone like Atlas defeated.

"-I...No." Atlas stammered.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at that. An Ambrosius _never_ stuttered.

"You hesitated." Lucius accused, noting the way Atlas had tensed.

"No, I didn't." He protested quickly. _Too_ quickly, in Lucius' opinion.

"Yes, you did."

"Lucius, it doesn't matter. It doesn't give you your son." Atlas jumped out of his seat, obviously not comfortable with the knowing glare Lucius had been directing at him. He leant against the fireplace, watching the flames dance below him.

"If it didn't give me a son, then you wouldn't be talking about it like it could have been a possible option." Lucius pointed out logically, making Atlas sigh in defeat. He immediately began to explain.

"There is _one_ other way. And I mean only _one_." Atlas stopped, taking another drink of his firewiskey. Lucius eyed it with growing unease. The man's alcohol intake was becoming alarming. "Carrying on a bloodline for Dragonborns is just as important to us as it is for purebloods. The difference is, we are much more lenient on who we can choose to mate with."

Lucius's lip curled at the use of the word 'mate'.

"Do you have to use such uncivilized language, Ambrosius?" He ground out.

"Sometimes a Dragonborn's _mate_ cannot be impregnated, for whatever reason." Atlas continued as if Lucius had never spoken, stressing the word 'mate'.

Lucius glared at Atlas. The latter continued unfazed by this.

"Dragonborns can impregnate their mates when they are unable to become pregnant through sexual intimacy." Atlas finished, turning back to Lucius. He walked back over to where Lucius still stood, pouring two glasses of firewhiskey this time, handing one to Lucius. The Malfoy took it but didn't drink it. Neither did Atlas.

"So, what you are saying is you can give me a son." Lucius clarified, skeptical about why Atlas was acting so... nervous. The man always emitted a confident aurora, completely in control of the emotions he let other people see – a typical pureblood trait. Showing emotion revealed vulnerability. Atlas never allowed himself that disadvantage.

"No, Lucius. I can't give you a son." Atlas corrected. He paused, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again, readying himself to speak. "I can give you _my_ son."

There was a long silence as those words echoed through the house.

Atlas gulped down his drink, emptying the whole glass yet again. Lucius followed suit. "There is no way for me to learn the charm?" He whispered, stunned by the announcement. Atlas shook his head in response.

"No. Only Dragonborns."

"And it would impregnate Cissa." Lucius confirmed, using the nickname they both used for his wife. He didn't meet Atlas' eyes as he thought it over.

"Yes. But it would be _my_ son." Atlas emphasized, as if Lucius hadn't heard the first time.

A pause followed. Lucius licked his suddenly dry lips, feeling sick for what he was about to say. He had to say it. He had no choice.

"Do it." Lucius demanded, eyes showing a cold, calculating determination that would have made anyone else shiver. Atlas being Atlas, just gaped at him.

"What?" Atlas asked, even though he had heard perfectly the first time. He must have been caught off guard, since he'd forgotten proper etiquette in his shock. No 'pardon' or 'sorry'. Just a very dumb, goldfish-like utterance of 'what'. Lucius tried his best to hold back a sneer.

"I want you to do it." Lucius repeated. Atlas just stared at him as if he had gone mad.

"Lucius, this isn't a solution to your problem. It will be my son in your wife's womb, not yours. That is the opposite of a solution."

"I am aware, Ambrosius." Lucius ground out, squeezing his eyes shut in order to gain his composure. He took a deep breath, plots and schemes already emerging inside his mind. He needed Atlas to do this. It was his only option. Now he needed to convince him.

"But who else will know that? You need a son, do you not? Yet if the Dark Lord found out you had a wife or son, he'd kill them both, that's why you haven't married, isn't it?" Lucius asked, knowing even before he finished that he had caught Atlas with that point. The man opened his mouth more than once trying to speak, not being able to find the right words. Finally, he gave up altogether, choosing to glare at Lucius instead.

"It's one of the reasons." Atlas admitted reluctantly, jaw clenched.

"This could give you a son, Atlas - one that the Dark Lord would never know about. I would also get a son, not by blood, but the wizarding world does not need to know that. To everyone else but us, he will be a Malfoy."

"It's not that simple, Lucius!" Atlas hissed, outraged. "The child will be an Ambrosius by blood, which means he will be a Dragonborn Prince, and King someday too, just like me." Atlas argued, trying to get Lucius to see sense. Not that it had worked before. The two of them were just as bad as each other.

"Exactly. The boy will be powerful, for both our houses. Raised as a Malfoy, with the blood of an Ambrosius." Lucius persisted, making Atlas shake his head as he walked away.

The man collapsed into the armchair he'd been seated in before, holding his head in his hands. Lucius didn't speak, knowing Atlas would agree if it was meant to be. You couldn't force the man to do anything. The Dark Lord had learnt that the hard way.

Atlas sighed, lifting his head and running a hand through his thick hair. Seconds ticked by as Atlas analyzed the advantages and disadvantages of the arrangement.

"You want a son, Lucius? Fine." Atlas ground out eventually, gritting his teeth. He glared at Lucius, obviously deciding to place the blame on him. "But I will only do it if you agree to certain conditions."

"What are they?" Lucius asked, already having predicted this very outcome. Atlas was a Slytherin like him after all – their house always made sure failure was never a possible option. Negotiating a contract was no different.

"Firstly, the child will need to be trained and made aware of its heritage. Once it turns thirteen the dragon will emerge, and I will have to teach my son the ways of our kind." Atlas sent Lucius a pointed glance, somehow knowing what Lucius had intended to happen. Internally, Lucius cursed.

"Fine." Lucius bit down on his tongue, trying not to argue. He was lucky Atlas was even considering it.

"Obviously you need to be truthful with Narcissa. Tell her everything that she doesn't already know. If she does not want to go through with it, the deal is off." Atlas decided next, Lucius nodding after he winced. He never could lie to his wife even if he tried.

"I agree."

Atlas nodded in approval to his agreement, before beginning to pace in the centre of the room. If he didn't stop, Lucius wouldn't be surprised if he wore a hole in the rug.

"Finally, the child can never bare the Dark Mark." Atlas added, Lucius unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"You can't seriously be asking that of me." He protested, no longer able to hold his tongue. His voice was furious even if he never raised it but Atlas wasn't intimidated. He held Lucius' gaze, expression unmoving.

"I intend to. And you know exactly why, Lucius. Don't pretend you don't." Atlas firmly demanded, tone dangerously low. Lucius swallowed, paler than before, knowing exactly what Atlas was referring to.

"Alright. Though it may not be my choice. How I will prevent the Dark Lord from choosing him-"

"Let me worry about Riddle. You worry about _me_." Atlas warned, though Lucius didn't seem convinced. "I'm serious, Lucius. If you break any of these conditions, or if I find you've made my son into your own personal puppet, the deal is off. The same if both you and Narcissa die in this war. One word from me to the Ministry and the world will find out who the child's real father is." Atlas threatened, expression deadly, voice lower than Lucius had ever heard it. Suddenly, the eyes of the man shifted, monstrous reptile slits dark against the glowing iris.

"Is. That. Understood?" Atlas snarled, stressing each word with dangerous clarity. Lucius forced himself not to flinch, though that was hard since he could have sworn the man's teeth were ten times sharper than before.

This was no longer the boy Lucius used to know at Hogwarts. This was the man that even _Voldermort_ feared.

"Yes." Lucius never broke eye contact. Atlas stared back for a few tense moments, his dragon eyes cold.

"Good." Atlas stated, nodding firmly. "Do we have a deal?" He raised his right hand, palm up, waiting for Lucius to shake on it. For a moment, Lucius hesitated, but then he took the offered hand.

* * *

 **AN: Interestingly enough, this chapter was originally intended to be a prologue. The idea of Lucius walking up to a ghostly house, only to find a mysterious character, who is clearly not human, sparked the formation of this whole story. And the best part? I wrote this after reading Daphne du Maurier's _Rebecca_ , the first chapter inspiring the description and setting. I recommend you read it, if you're a fan of literature. I couldn't put the book down!**


	3. Inheritance

**AN: Back to the present in this chapter. Enjoy ;)**

* * *

 _Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change._

 _\- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein_

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Inheritance

 _Malfoy Manor, 1993._

"What happens now?" Narcissa asked, moving forward to pour the three of them tea once the house elf had set it upon the coffee table. Her hair was tied up elegantly, just as he remembered it, the only difference being a few strands were hanging loose, shining in the sunlight that streamed in through the tall glass windows. It was the only evidence of her worried state - Atlas knew she had a habit of touching her hair when she was afraid or anxious.

She had a few more wrinkles than he remembered, though Atlas guessed that was mostly due to raising Draco. At Hogwarts, she had chased after him and Lucius for years, fixing the mess they made before the teachers found out. She had been stressed then, but raising an Ambrosius that had learnt all the traits of a Malfoy _and_ Black? She was certainly made of something tougher than steel.

"He's close to the change, Narcissa." Atlas answered quietly, taking a cup when Narcissa offered him one. "There are many things that are going to happen. I think it might be wise if I stay here for a while, or he stays with me." He sipped his tea once he had stopped speaking, thoughts running wild over the previous events.

14 years. That was how long it had been since he had stepped foot in Malfoy Manor. It seemed like yesterday when he had arrived to perform the ritual, stomach uneasy at the idea about what he was going to do. He had known it was wrong, had known he would regret it. But he did it anyway.

Lucius was right. He needed a son, just as much as Lucius did, and he couldn't risk his enemies learning about his heir. So, determined to succeed and overcome with selfish self-preservation, he had agreed.

Having seen the damage Draco had done to himself, Atlas could not stand the amount of self-hatred he now felt. He should have foreseen this future – he had known Lucius well. He had known Lucius was prejudiced, but he had believed Lucius would at least respect Atlas' wishes, not forcing the same beliefs upon the boy. Now, as consequence for his naivety, his son hated the very thing he was.

But Draco wasn't his son, not really. The only time he had ever met the boy was minutes after he had been born, having been present for his birth. Even then, he had only held him for seconds before Lucius took over, intent on meeting the small newborn. It was long enough to form a magical bond though, one that Lucius had no idea existed. Years later, that bond still burned inside him, dormant, waiting to be re-ignited.

He barely knew Draco. Narcissa had been kind, sending him letters every time Draco had accomplished something of significance, such as the boy's first steps, or his first accidental magic. He knew the boy loved Quidditch, just like any wizard child did (though secretly, he believed that was Narcissa's traits seeping through, if not his), and he had a fascination for Dragons, something Atlas knew he should be thankful to Narcissa for – he even knew Draco was skilled at potions, due to Lucius' teachings. But it wasn't the same. Atlas had no idea how Draco acted, how he smiled. He didn't even know the sound of the boy's laugh. And since he was a Dragonborn, a creature that valued family above anything else, it was a very sad thing indeed.

"That's just absurd. Draco can stay here."

Atlas turned to face Lucius upon hearing his voice, anger whirling up inside him. After Draco had been born, their friendship had never truly been the same, the birth being the last blow to their already war-torn bond. Narcissa had suffered so many complications with the pregnancy. She couldn't perform magic for months along with more serious issues, much to their worry, but she soon gained it back when Draco entered the world. Lucius resented him for making his wife so ill.

In return, Atlas resented Lucius for raising Draco to be a prejudiced and spoilt brat, one that carved out his arm because he didn't want to be a disgrace to the family he wasn't even related to. Atlas had trusted Lucius, trusted him to raise his son, to protect him. It seemed Lucius had failed him yet again. Atlas no longer understood why he was so surprised.

"Yes, because that's worked _so_ well up to now." Atlas drawled, rolling his eyes. Lucius glared.

"I raised him. I think I know perfectly well how to look after him." Lucius ground out.

"Oh yes, you're perfectly right, Lucius - my deepest apologies. I just didn't realise that filling his head with pureblood supremacy bullshit is the best way to prepare him for the day when you actually tell him he isn't a pureblood at all." Atlas countered, snarling out the words. Lucius leapt to his feet in retaliation, obviously intending to instigate a fight. Atlas prepared himself as well, shoulders tensing up and eyes narrowing. Narcissa interrupted before the either two men could make a move for their wands.

"Boys, stop it! What's done is done. Atlas, you agreed to this. As for you Lucius, maybe you should listen to what Atlas has to say, or do you not care about our son's wellbeing at all?" Narcissa snapped, placing her cup on the side table. He hands stayed in her lap as she spoke, voice firm. Atlas immediately relented, but Lucius stood his ground. The next words he spoke made Atlas' blood boil.

"But he's not my son now is he, Narcissa?" The Malfoy Lord sneered at Atlas, even though his words were directed at his wife.

"LUCIUS!"

"Well, it is the truth, is it not?"

"Is that what you think, Lucius? After everything, are you so cold hearted that you can't even be responsible for the son _you_ wanted?" Narcissa roared at Lucius, her face the vision of fury. There were very few times Atlas had ever seen the woman lose her composure, and each time he wondered what she would have been like as a Dragonborn.

Terrifying, no doubt.

"Narcissa is right, Malfoy. Maybe you shouldn't have asked for a son if you didn't want one." Atlas added, his own fury rumbling underneath his skin. The dragon buried inside him growled.

"I didn't just want any son, Ambrosius. I wanted _my_ son." Lucius jabbed a finger at his own chest to stress his point, his words only serving to further anger Atlas.

"Oh, and Draco isn't good enough, is that it?" Atlas accused, only now jumping to his feet. He let his eyes shift, the heat behind his eyelids alerting him to their now glowing reptilian appearance. A sense of satisfaction throbbed inside his chest when he saw Lucius flinch, hand twitching for his wand.

"Draco is a Malfoy, do not doubt that, Ambrosius. But I wanted a son _you_ wouldn't corrupt." Lucius accused, voice dangerously low. He sneered, eyeing Atlas from head to toe as if it disgusted him. Atlas saw red.

"Corrupt? I assure you, Malfoy, you have done that yourself." Atlas snarled, now face to face.

"You dare talk to me like that in my own house! You –" Lucius roared, finally grabbing his wand. Atlas immediately grabbed his own wand in defense, feeling the comforting length of the Hawthorn wood within his palm. If Lucius wanted a fight, by the stars, he would give him one.

But they never got the chance to raise them. Footsteps, running footsteps, echoed into the room from the foyer, the stairs groaning under the weight of whoever was running up them. Atlas didn't need to be a genius to work out who it was. And by the look on Lucius' horrified face, neither did he.

"Well done, Malfoy. We'll make a father out of you yet." Atlas deadpanned, eyes not leaving the open door to the foyer. He heard Lucius snarl beside him, but Atlas didn't wait for a response. He was already making his way out of the room, walking at a fast pace with long, purposeful strides.

He turned out of the room, almost jogging to the grand central staircase. He was about to place his foot on the first step when her voice sounded behind him.

"How much did he hear?" Narcissa asked, looking just as beautiful as the day they had first met. There was no evidence she had been shouting at the top of her lungs seconds before – aloof, composed, just like any Black. She hadn't changed a bit.

If Atlas hadn't been so concerned about Draco, he would have smiled at the comforting familiarity.

"He heard enough." Was all he could manage as a reply.

* * *

Draco couldn't breathe. When he finally reached his suite, he was struggling to walk as he heaved in large gulps of air in rapid succession, almost as if he was drowning. His hands sought out the walls and furniture at his sides, using them to support his weight, but he ended up shoving ornaments to the floor in the process with a loud clatter. At the back of his mind, he registered that he was having a panic attack.

Draco didn't reach his bed in time. Instead, he ended up falling against the bedpost at the foot of the bed, before turning around and sliding down to the ground. He brought his knees up to his chest, hands moving to clutch his head as he gasped for breath. The same thoughts kept running through his head, an endless chant that only seemed to get louder every second.

 _Not a Malfoy, not a Malfoy, not a Malfoy..._

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it hurt. If he wasn't a Malfoy, who was he?

More importantly, _what_ was he?

His body shook as he gasped for breath, his anxiety only worsening. A part of him knew that he shouldn't be acting so pathetically, letting his emotions control him in such a way. Emotion was often a weakness, according to Lucius Malfoy.

For years, his father had drilled the pureblood views and etiquette into his head, pushing the prejudiced views about blood status upon him. He'd believed everything his father said. But his father had lied. He wasn't a pureblood. He wasn't even his son.

"Draco! DRACO!" His mother screamed his name, but Draco didn't move. Her voice seemed too far away, worried shouts echoing off the walls of the vast mansion. He didn't look up, too concentrated on trying to just breathe, so when his mother appeared in the doorway, her expression frantic as her eyes searched for his crumpled form he barely noticed. Her eyes soon found him and she rushed forward, picking up her skirts so she didn't trip.

"Narcissa, don't!" An unfamiliar voice yelled, the man behind it entering the room with Lucius close behind him. It stopped his mother in her tracks, the stranger quickly overtaking her as he made his way over to Draco in her stead. He stopped in front of the shaking boy, kneeling down to Draco's height.

"Draco..." He reached to touch his shoulder, worry evident in his voice, but Draco visibly flinched at his touch. Only then did he look up, frightened grey eyes meeting worried dark pools, before he scrambled back to get away, frantically shaking his head. The man was having none of it, his hands instantly reaching out to grab Draco's wrists, forcing him to still.

"Draco, sshhh. Calm down, it's alright..." Draco didn't seem to hear the words, panic completely controlling him now as he struggled hysterically.

Draco stiffened as he was pulled into a hug, strong arms wrapping around his back. He was still gasping for air over the man's shoulder, shock mixing with his panic now.

"Sshhh. Come on, breathe Draco. It's alright. Sshh..." The man whispered comforting words into Draco's ear, his strong embrace refusing to let Draco go, forcing him to listen. Inside Draco's mind, Draco felt something awaken, something that not only sensed the man but recognized him too. As a result, Draco felt himself calm, his mind somehow knowing to trust the words, to listen to them. His breathing slowed, his heart beginning to calm with it. Before long, he was clutching the man's shoulders with all his might, using his voice and the warmth of his body as an anchor to bring him back to reality.

"Okay now, Draco?" The man finally asked when Draco seemed to have calmed down. The teenager could only manage to nod into the man's shoulder, his breath still shaky. The stranger pulled away, but didn't let go of Draco completely, which he was thankful for. It gave Draco the distance to observe the man for the first time, without having to stop receiving the comfort and reassurance that Draco still desperately needed.

The man was tall, as tall as Lucius, and had a pair of eyes that seemed darker in the dim light. A light stubble decorated the man's chin but even that failed to make him look much older that twenty-one, though it was more likely he was younger. His face looked too young for his eyes, making Draco instantly frown.

"Guess you want to know who I am, right?" The man asked, an almost timid smile on his lips. He held out a hand for Draco to shake, still kneeling down, emitting a completely different aurora than a typical pureblood projected. Formal, cold, poised - that was a part of pureblood expectations. But here this man sat on his knees, at equal height. Not intimidating, not superior – equal.

"Atlas Ambrosius. And you are?" Ambrosius introduced himself, Draco taking the offered hand.

"Draco. Draco Mal-" Draco stopped mid-sentence, his voice catching in his throat as his gaze moved to the floor. He wasn't a Malfoy, so how could he introduce himself as one?

Atlas seemed to read his thoughts, for he instantly looked away, eyes darting towards his so-called father before he next spoke.

"Overheard that much, huh?" He commented, looking Draco over. Draco avoided his gaze, and that of everyone else in the room. "Want to talk about it?" Atlas asked this time. Draco looked up to glare at the man in response.

"Not particularly, no."

"Well, you could have learnt about that personal information in a better way, I must admit. Your reaction is by no means your fault." Atlas reasoned, sending a rather dangerous glare at Lucius. It was clear to everyone whose fault it he thought it was.

"Don't look at me like that, Ambrosius. You're the one who said he'd be unconscious for several more hours." Lucius accused, glaring back.

"Oh, and whose fault is that, Malfoy?" Atlas flung back, eyes cold and lips curled up into a snarl. Draco watched the events unfold with shock, eyes wide at the tone Atlas used to address Lucius. No one had ever spoken to his father like that. Who had the courage to disrespect a Malfoy?

"My fault? Maybe you should look in the mirror, Ambrosius, then you might find who is at fault."

"You dare blame me for this? I only just got here!" Atlas growled, jumping to his feet, fists clenched, twitching for his wand. Lucius ignored the action.

"Well isn't that a blessing from the Great Merlin himself. Arrive any sooner and you could have caused my son to have a seizure." Lucius sneered, lifting his chin up like Atlas was beneath him. Draco watched in fear as Atlas' features contorted into a fierce rage he had never seen on anyone before, burning fire blazing under a cool exterior.

"He isn't your son, remember, you bastar-"

"ENOUGH!" His mother roared, summoning the room to silence. All three males stared at her in shock as she took a deep breath, fury raging inside her eyes. It remained there even when she once again looked the forever composed and poised Lady Malfoy.

"Atlas, I will not tolerate such language in my house." She stated, making it sound like an order. His mother seemed to take another deep breath before she turned to her husband. "And Lucius dear, do not pretend to be innocent here. Apologize to _your_ son." She demanded, voice falsely sweet.

"Cissa..."

" _Now_."

Lucius gulped.

Slowly, he turned towards Draco, who was now watching the entire exchange with wide eyes. Father and son met each other's gaze, neither saying a word. Finally, after several tense moments, Lucius averted his gaze, his voice sounding pained as if he had to force the words out as he spoke.

"My apologies...my son."

Draco gaped.

"Draco, I have told you not to stare and I have certainly told you not to gape so rudely. So, care to explain what you are doing?" His mother now turned her stern eyes on him, and Draco instantly snapped his mouth shut.

"Sorry, Mother." He apologised, much quicker than his father.

"Good. Now that is dealt with, let's get to the matter at hand. Draco, by all means start asking questions. I believe we no longer have use of lies." His mother declared, running her hands down her dress in a nervous gesture.

There was silence as Draco thought it over. He didn't want to talk to his father. He didn't really want to talk to his mother either. He was still processing everything they had said, as well as deciding how he felt about it, so he was not ready to talk to either of them. More than that, he no longer trusted them. They had lied to him all his life, and not about something minor. This was his heritage, his inheritance – who he was. He knew nothing. All he thought he knew was a lie, a fabricated lie he had been fed his whole life. They had betrayed his trust. They had betrayed _him_. He didn't even know if they really were his parents. Lucius certainly wasn't.

Draco didn't speak, refusing to look at anybody in the room. He stared at the floor, avoiding the hurt look that crossed his mother's face.

"You don't have to talk to them, if you want." Atlas suggested, jumping in before his parents could comment. Draco looked up then, meeting the man's eyes, finding only kindness and understanding there, not pity. He didn't want pity.

He wanted answers.

"I-I...would prefer that." Draco quietly admitted, fearing what reaction his words would produce. Lucius' left eye seemed to twitch, his lips still curled in an ugly expression of anger and displeasure.

"Now wait a minute-" Lucius tried to interrupt but his mother quickly cut him off.

"Lucius! Not. Another. Word." His mother growled out. She whirled to face Draco again, her eyes reserved and almost sorrowful. An uneasy throb of guilt twisted in Draco's gut. He hadn't meant to hurt her. "Draco, your father and I will be downstairs, when you decide you want to talk. Won't we Lucius?" His mother addressed him with a sweet tone, but the tone she used for her husband was as hard as ice.

"...Yes, I suppose we will be." Lucius replied after a while.

"Good. Be polite to Atlas, Draco. And please try not to judge too quickly." She advised, her voice soft. Then, forcing a smile, his mother sent him one last hesitant look, as if she wanted to say something else, but decided against it. She turned, leaving the room, her robes trailing behind her. Lucius seemed to hesitate as well, but his gaze was not fixed on Draco. He glared openly at Atlas, ignoring Draco completely, and when Draco quickly glanced at Atlas, he saw the man was returning the gesture.

Lucius sneered, but left the room, not saying a word. Beside him, Draco heard Atlas sigh.

"What was that about?" Draco tentatively asked, eyeing the doorway from which Lucius had disappeared from warily. Atlas stood up and walked over to close the door, carefully pushing it shut. The man seemed to hesitate in answering, almost leaning against the door, back to Draco, as he debated what to say.

"It doesn't matter." Atlas turned swiftly, walking back over to Draco. He waved a hand, no wand in sight, and Draco watched amazed as all the ornaments and objects that he had pushed to the floor in his panic magically rose into the air, as if time was reversing, returning back to their original positions on the tables and dressers. Even a vase filled with flowers, which had also been filled with water, righted itself as the water simultaneously flowed back into it. Atlas didn't seem to blink as he performed the powerful display of wandless magic, not even halting in his steps as he strode over to the wooden chair positioned near Draco's bed.

Upon reaching it, he grabbed the arm rests of the chair, swinging it around so it was closer to Draco, who still sat next to the foot of the bed. Atlas also grabbed another chair from the corner of the room, picking it up with ease even though Draco knew for a fact the solid oak chair was no lightweight.

"However, what does matter, is you. So, come sit here so we can fix this mess." Atlas declared, almost throwing himself down onto the chair he had been carrying moments before. Draco slowly got to his feet, sitting down again in the opposite chair with slightly more care and restraint. Draco was bursting with questions, but he could not form the words to ask them. Dread of what the answers may bring filled him, filling him with nerves and fear. Atlas only seemed to be interested in watching the boy in front of him, waiting for Draco to speak.

When no question came, Atlas sighed, taking the chance to look around Draco's room. From the bookcases filled with books that were either fictional or informative, to the mountain of Quidditch memorabilia dedicated to both his Hogwarts House and his favourite Quidditch team, the Tornadoes, Draco's room was almost as he expected it to be. However, there were still surprises. With Lucius for a father, you would have half expected to walk in to see dark wood and Slytherin green decorating the walls.

In reality, the only green in the room came from the Slytherin scarves that hung over his desk chair. The far wall, opposite the bed, was made of stone, housing the grand fireplace that was still lit, the flames crackling and spitting as it burnt the wood. A blue colour scheme adorned the furniture, the royal blue silk bed sheets bold compared to the lighter walls, which were either made of stone or the richest of oak wood paneling. The room itself was neat and tidy, not one object out of place in the sophisticated room, except for the obvious cultural influences that often interested teenage wizards and witches. There were also no paintings within the room, but there were plenty of mirrors. A group of dragon figurines magically flew above the desk and the ceiling itself was bewitched to look like the night sky, constellations of stars visible upon it.

"Tell me about you Draco." Atlas asked after a long silence, turning his attention back to Draco.

"What?" Draco, who had been looking at his feet before, shot up at the address, surprised by the change in topic. Confusion flooded the boy's features and Atlas' face softened.

"Your interests – your likes and dislikes. The first time you flew on a broom, or your first accidental magic. I want to know about _you_."

"Why would you care?" Draco snapped, frowning at the man before him. He was surprised by how angry his voice sounded, how disrespectful. The problem was, Draco was too overwhelmed to care. However, when he saw the flash of hurt, coupled with resignation in Atlas' eyes, Draco felt the familiar stab of guilt that hit his heart yet again.

"Draco, Lucius is not your father. As the only other adult male in this manor, why do you think I'm here?" Atlas asked quietly.

"…I don't know." Draco stated hesitantly, his voice sounding unconvincing even to his ears.

"Yes, you do." Atlas sent him a sad smile, knowing the lie behind the words. "You can feel it. You can sense it - you can sense _me_." Atlas stared straight at Draco, not breaking his gaze. He was right. Draco had felt something ever since he had heard the man speak back in the parlor, something that was at the back of his mind. It felt like an itch that he couldn't scratch - a gut feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He knew who Atlas was. He could feel his magic being drawn to the wizard, but he had denied it. Just like he had tried to deny the truth he had heard only minutes before.

Draco was tired of denial. For weeks, he had denied the feeling that he was changing. That something was wrong. In the end, it had only delayed him learning the truth, resulting in more pain. It was time to stop.

"You're my father, aren't you?" Draco asked, averting his gaze, as if it could make the answer Atlas gave next any less real.

"Yes."

"How did this happen?" Draco whispered, afraid of the truth. Atlas observed him for a few moments, as if trying to read his thoughts. He looked like he was searching for something, and whatever he found, made him decide on one final decision.

"I don't wish to talk here." Atlas gave Draco's room one last glance before focusing his gaze solely on the boy in front of him. "Grab your cloak. We're going out."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Atlas had asked one of the house elves to inform Lucius and Narcissa about their absence. In no mood to protest, Draco hadn't spoken against his decision to speak elsewhere. Right now, Malfoy Manor wasn't the place he wanted to be. The word 'Malfoy' on his tongue made him feel sick. However, Draco did not know what to expect when Atlas put a hand on his shoulder, side apparating them both to the place where Atlas deemed a better destination to talk. He certainly had not expected to see the Forbidden Forest stretching out in front of him.

The last glimpses of the sun were disappearing over the tips of the black trees, dusk quickly morphing into the eerie darkness of night. A light night breeze rustled the leaves of the shrubs and tree branches, making Draco's short fringe fall down into his eyes. He had stopped using the hair gel to slick back his hair as soon as he left school as it had hidden the few scales that had emerged just below his hairline. Now he was thankful for the few strands of hair to hide behind.

The Forbidden Forest was just as he remembered it, towering above him, as daunting as ever. His first-year experience of the forest had forever left a bad impression on him, one that made him want to never set a foot in the forest ever again. The worthless excuse of a game-keeper, Hagrid, had thought it sensible to bring a group of eleven-year-olds along while he was searching for injured unicorns. The man had seemed not concerned in the slightest that they could possibly come face to face with the thing that was attacking the unicorns, draining their precious blood. Sure, he was supposed to be serving detention, but he would never have been given one if it weren't for Potter. He could have died, for Merlin's sake.

Suffice to say, the sight made his already pale skin go so white he could have been a ghost. His fear and shock made him completely forget to inquire how Atlas had managed to apparate onto Hogwarts grounds, during the summer no less.

"What are we doing here?" Draco asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"I thought we could go for a walk while we talked. The fresh air will do us good, especially on a night like this." Atlas explained, nonchalantly. He didn't seem disturbed in the slightest by the sight of the looming forest in front of them.

"A walk? In _there_?" Draco pointed to the forest, straight at the spot that looked like an opening in the trees. The fear was quite evident in his voice now.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Atlas asked. Draco looked at him as if he had gone mad. The man probably had, since Draco knew next to nothing about him.

"It's the Forbidden Forest." Draco stated, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that fact, Draco." Atlas raised an eyebrow, obviously not understanding Draco's reasoning.

"But it's the _Forbidden Forest_. There's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard. Once one of my detentions was served walking through that blasted forest, trailing after unicorns that were being attacked. The attacker drained all their blood - their _blood_!" Draco screeched, clearly panicking.

"Yes, I heard about how the unicorns were being attacked." Atlas frowned deeply, his expression appearing almost…angry. Then the emotion was gone from his face in the blink of an eye, expressionless once again. "As for the werewolves, I can tell you now they haven't set foot in this forest in over fifty years. They prefer the Black Forest in Germany, I believe. The centaurs are a lot less hostile there, and that forest doesn't have spiders either. No werewolf wants to get eaten by a spider, after all."

"There are spiders that eat werewolves in there? _Spiders_?" Draco asked, his voice an octave higher that before.

"They're actually called Acromantula, and their venom is very useful in potions. If you can get past the fact they will eat you, if given the chance." Atlas informed, not noticing the way Draco now looked like he was going to be sick with fear.

"And you want to go in there, where they _live_?"

"They're not a threat to us Draco. Aragog wouldn't dare attack me, unless he wants to end up burnt to a crisp." Atlas spoke confidently, but with a dark undertone to his words that unnerved Draco immensely. The worse thing was, Draco had no idea if the man was joking or not.

"You're insane." Draco stated. Atlas smirked, an action that wasn't very comforting in the circumstances.

"Don't worry, Draco. I won't let anything happen to you. Plus, with the appearance you're sporting, no sane creature will approach you." Atlas sent the boy beside him a reassuring smile, before deciding now was the time to begin to make their way to the forest.

Draco just stared at him, too stunned to move. Atlas seemed to notice he wasn't being followed and faltered in his steps, turning back to Draco.

"Well, are you coming or not? I haven't got all day Draco." Atlas addressed him, the ominous image of the forest lurking behind the man.

In that moment, Draco knew he was going to die.


	4. Creatures In The Dark

**AN: To those of you who have been reading this story since the beginning, I've changed Atlas' dragon appearance slightly so check that out. If you're a new reader, ignore me and enjoy!**

* * *

 _It simply isn't an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons._

 _\- J.R.R Tolkien_

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CHAPTER 4

Creatures In The Dark

Draco's feet hurt. They'd been walking for what felt like hours and now the darkness had fully engulfed the forest. His headache had only gotten worse as night descended, more painful than ever before. Atlas was walking ahead without so much as a simple Lumos to light the way. Draco was barely managing to keep sight of the man in the blackness that surrounded them, so Merlin knew how Atlas knew where he was going. The trees looked all the same in the day, let alone at night when you couldn't see a thing.

Thankfully, they hadn't encountered any of the Acromantula Atlas had mentioned, even though Draco had felt like he was being watched the whole time. He couldn't tell if it was paranoia or his real sixth sense in control, but neither were good. One meant he was going mental while the other meant he'd probably become something's supper by the end of the night

Atlas, as usual, was unconcerned. He powered on through the forest with a purpose in his step that radiated a confidence that was not dissimilar to his father's. The difference was, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't go for a nightly stroll through a forest ridden with magical creatures that could eat him alive.

It annoyed Draco to no end. The cold night air didn't improve his mood either.

"Since we have a good chance of dying out here, do you mind explaining where we're going? Or better yet, how exactly did an Ambrosius end up being raised a Malfoy?" Draco asked bitterly, a scowl fixed on his face.

"I wouldn't frown so much if I were you, Draco. You'll get wrinkles." Atlas remarked, sending the boy an amused glance.

"Are you even going to answer my questions?" Draco pouted like a petulant child, though there was deeper emotion running through his words. He had been lied to by the people he trusted most. Now, angry and betrayed, he wanted answers. He wanted the truth.

Atlas seemed to sense his raging emotions, the playful mood immediately turning solemn. He stopped and turned to face Draco, a long, suffering sigh escaping his lips. "We're going deep into the forest because I wish to show you something. As for how I ended up as your father…it's a long story."

"Try me." Draco declared defiantly, hating the fact Atlas appeared to be cautious about what he wanted to say, like Draco was something delicate that might break upon the smallest touch. He wasn't a child, he could take it. Well, technically, he was a child, but that was beside the point. He was going to be in his third year of Hogwarts come September – many purebloods his age started thinking about betrothal contracts this year. He could take it.

"Do you recognize my surname, Draco?" Atlas asked eventually, carrying on walking. Draco quickened his pace to keep in step with Atlas by his side.

"You're a pureblood, a respected wizarding family." Draco answered, without hesitation. Every wizarding family had heard of the Ambrosius House. Although not strictly considered a part of the Sacred 28, the Ambrosius family were still a highly influential family of purebloods. And famously rich, even more so than the Malfoys if Draco had heard the rumours correctly.

"And why are we respected?" Atlas prompted.

"You're direct descendants of Merlin." Draco answered, face set into concentration as he tried to remember what he had been told. When he was younger, his Governess and tutors had taught him about all the different pureblood families, their history and their family crests. The Ambrosius House had the most interesting history of all.

"Correct." Atlas nodded. "Many other purebloods are related to Merlin, but only the Ambrosius are direct descendants, sharing a surname. However, our infamous reputation meant secrecy was hard to obtain, so my family retreated to the shadows. For centuries we did not attend Hogwarts or any of the other wizarding schools, preferring to tutor our children ourselves. Our deliberate isolation from the rest of society did not give the effect we wanted. Instead, our family became the centre of rumours. When I attended Hogwarts, the whole Wizarding World knew about it within hours." Atlas explained, Draco walking in step beside him. He had slowed down to allow Draco to keep up, and it seemed the mere mention of Hogwarts had ignited Draco's interest.

"You went to Hogwarts?" Draco asked, grinning as excitement flooded his face. Atlas smiled back.

"I did. Same year as Lucius."

"But that can't be possible. He attended Hogwarts over a decade ago. You look barely over twenty!" Draco exclaimed, gesturing to Atlas. The man didn't look at Draco, keeping his face completely indifferent.

"I have a very special skin care routine, keeps me uniquely preserved."

"That's a lie." Draco accused, pouting.

"Maybe." Atlas agreed, his sly face revealing nothing as he kept his eyes in front of him. His eyes flickered back to the boy beside him before they looked away, a smirk gradually crawling onto his face. "Maybe not."

Atlas grinned then, Draco huffing grudgingly as he folded his arms in front of him. Draco didn't hold onto his anger for long though. His curiosity was too strong.

"What House were you in?" He questioned after a while. Atlas smiled down at him.

"Slytherin." Atlas stated, clearly expecting the excited gasp Draco made.

"Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I shared a dorm with Lucius and a bunch of other Slytherins in the same year as me. I was a talented student, with a skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures in particular."

"So, you and my fath- Lucius, knew each other at Hogwarts?" Draco asked, smiling. However, his smile quickly died when he saw the expression on Atlas' face. His eyes were hard, almost cold, and his jaw was clenched. Draco could feel the tension that had consumed the man beside him.

"You could say that." Atlas ground out, refusing to look at Draco.

There was a long silence. Draco found himself thinking about what he had said wrong and wondered not for the first time what had transpired between Atlas and Lucius.

"So… how did you end up as my father?" Draco questioned warily after a while. Atlas never glanced his way, but answered nonetheless.

"I was never like the other Slytherins. I did not believe in pureblood supremacy, but I did not advertise that fact. You could say I was a neutral representative, tolerant of all the houses and blood status variations. The others Slytherins just saw me as manipulative – the friendships I made in all the houses have proved useful over the years. As an Ambrosius, I was never unpopular anyway, and my talent for dueling meant few dared to cross me. When the first Wizarding War began, I did not become a Death Eater."

"But Lucius did." Draco pointed out quietly. Atlas didn't respond or react to the comment, though Draco noticed how the man seemed to only tense even more.

"He came to me seeking help during the war. He was born infertile, so he could not sire any children. I was his last hope."

"Wait... Are you saying that you and my mother..." Draco trailed off, horror flooding his features, but Atlas was quick to correct him.

"No. What I did was use a very ancient spell that impregnated your mother. The problem was, even without the...close intimacy, you were still mine. The spell caster is always the father."

"And this? What the hell is this? Am I...am I-I cursed?" Draco gestured to his body, horror and disgust clear on his face. It made the expression on Atlas' face harden, even if a sadness lingered in his eyes.

"No, you're not. You're not a Moon's child."

"A what?" Draco asked, face scrunching up in puzzlement at the term. Atlas seemed to realise his slip of tongue, as he quickly corrected himself.

"A werewolf. You're not a werewolf."

"Then what am I?" Draco yelled, his patience leaving at the same time his restraint did. He was sick of Atlas avoiding telling him anything and he was sick of not knowing. He hated not knowing things. Knowledge was power, Lucius had taught him that, and even though he loathed to admit it at the moment, the man was right. Housemate secretly fooling around with a muggleborn? Use it as blackmail. Quidditch rival sporting a bad shoulder? Have the beaters aim for it or aim for it yourself. Skilled and educated, as well as logical? Use that in a duel against your enemy, using the best strategy to bring them to their knees. Without knowledge, Draco was powerless.

And he hated to feel powerless. Vulnerable. _Defenseless_.

Yet again, Atlas only stared down at Draco with that intense gaze, expressionless except for the slight furrow of his brows, suggesting he was deep in thought.

"It's easier to show you." The man finally decided to say. He jerked his head to the side, gesturing for Draco to follow. Still frowning, but curious now, Draco did just that.

After a few minutes of weaving through the forest, the pair finally emerged from the trees, entering a vast clearing in the forest that would have been a beautiful meadow during the daytime, bees and butterflies fluttering between the flowers. However, it was nighttime, so the clearing looked more hostile rather than welcoming with the black trees surrounding it like the bars of a cage, especially with the crescent moon shining brightly in the eerie silence of the star-speckled night sky.

"Stay there, Draco." Atlas ordered while he, himself, continued forward. As he made his way into the middle of the clearing, wading his way through the tall grass, Draco stood still, a scowl now on his face.

"What exactly do you intend to show me from all the way over there?" Draco asked, spreading his arms out in frustration. Atlas came to a sudden halt in the centre of the clearing, and as he turned his head around, Draco caught a glimpse of a grin illuminated by the moonlight.

"This." Almost immediately after the man had spoken, Draco watched in disbelief as Atlas's eyes changed, the pupils thinning to become long slits. Suddenly, the scent of smoke and fire filled the air, glowing embers flowing over the man's skin in a bright fiery light as his body morphed before Draco's eyes.

Scales emerged all over his face, but unlike Draco's, they gleamed like sapphires, appearing an ice blue in the direct glare of the moonlight yet darkening to a pitch black in the absence of it. Massive bat-like wings sprouted from Atlas' back, a tail unfurling and growing at the same rate of the wings. His face seemed to morph and change rapidly, as did the rest of his body – his nose grew as a scaly snout formed raised ridges upon it where the large scales met like plates of impenetrable armor and ivory horns grew, backing his skull.

Atlas slouched forward as similar plates formed on his back and then his stomach, while his legs and arms lengthened at the same time as claws - weapons able to lacerate even the sturdiest to mere ribbons of flesh and bone - grew from his fingers. The changes continued to occur, the body growing as much as it was morphing into something that screamed _other_.

Draco's eyes widened in horror as the _thing_ raised its huge head that now sat on a very, very long neck. Its great wings stretched to the sky to their full capacity behind its back, making its form look even larger. As it was, the creature now stood taller than the trees, with each foot bigger than Draco's entire body. As a breeze blew through the clearing, the creature seemed to shiver like a bird did when its feathers were ruffled, those great wings folding and returning to hang by its sides, the glowing embers falling from its body and blowing away in the wind.

Fierce, reptilian, yellow eyes met Draco's silver ones, inner reptilian eyelids slowly blinking once as the eyes remained fixed on the boy below. And then it smirked.

The _dragon_ smirked.

"Not expecting that, were you Draco?" Atlas' amused voice drifted from the Dragon's mouth, showing rows of numerous carnivorous teeth, too many to count. Draco's own mouth hung open, gaping wider at the sound of the thick, regal voice.

Dragons, Draco knew, did not talk. Even though they were intelligent beasts, they weren't that sentient. Neither did anyone speak in animagus form, no matter how talented they were.

Therefore, he deemed his high-pitched scream perfectly excusable.

Draco backed away frantically as the dragon lowered its head, coming closer and closer to Draco. Not seeing the rock protruding from the soil behind him, he tripped, falling onto his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. Head and chest throbbing, he blinked, scrambling backwards when he realized the dragon's gigantic head was centimeters from his face.

"Calm yourself, Draco. I'm not going to hurt you." He reassured.

"W-What are you?" Draco stammered, fear flooding his face. Atlas, now a dragon, seemed to observe him for a few moments before speaking.

"My kind, and by extension, _your_ kind, are called Dragonborns."

"My kind?" Draco echoed.

"I am a Dragonborn, and as my son, so are you." Atlas clarified, only succeeding in making Draco's eyes widen further.

"Merlin's beard." He breathed.

"You may want to take a minute. It's a lot to take in."

"A lot to take in?" Draco exclaimed. In a flash his shock morphed into anger. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling and tripping over again as he tried to stand, too shell shocked to move with precision. He began backing away from the great beast as he spoke. "No, this is not a lot to take in. Finding out I wasn't a Malfoy - _that_ was a lot to take in." Draco stopped, standing still. He waved his arms, gesturing to Atlas in his dragon form, voice hysterical. "This – this is _madness_."

"Is it now? Tell me Draco, do you even know what a Dragonborn is?" Atlas asked, voice like thunder, cocking his head in question. Draco's brow furrowed in defiance, his trademark sneer falling into place.

"Yes, I do _actually_. They're supposed to be fairytales. As in, they're not real!" Draco yelled, jabbing a finger at the dragon that loomed above him. He had no idea where his courage had come from. Perhaps it was merely the fact that the beast in front of him was not acting like a dragon, but like a human.

As a child, Draco had heard the fairytales about the Dragonborns, the stories being read to him by his mother from the book 'Tales of Beedle the Bard', along with other children's books. There was some debate on what the Dragonborns were – some fairytales depicted them as monsters, as demons who reaped destruction upon the world, bringing a reign of fire. Other stories portrayed them as protectors, as creatures of ancient magic that outreached the understanding of mortal men and brought only light to the world. The reason why the Dragonborns were no longer present was a vaguer topic still, some stories claiming them to be just that – stories. Others, particularly wizard historians, believed the creatures had been real, but had been forced to extinction. Then there was an even smaller group that believed that the Dragonborns were not only real, but still existed, living in a hidden world, waiting to return. As he grew up, he believed the stories as much as you believed the Deathly Hallows were real. It was just absurd.

Atlas' scaly lips curled in apparent amusement, his reptilian eyes shining with mirth at Draco's expense.

"I look real, do I not?" He pointed out, leaning away so he was stood straight once more, head held high in the air. Draco shook his head, taking another step back as his eyes became unfocused.

"I've gone mad. It's the only explanation." Draco mumbled to himself, clutching his head with one hand. Atlas rolled his eyes.

"Draco, you're perfectly sane." There was a note of exasperation to his voice now, his patience waning. Draco failed to notice, gaping up at Atlas after he had spoken his dismissive statement.

"I'm talking to a Dragon! A giant, fire-breathing, talking Dragon!" Draco yelled back at him, his mind still refusing to believe what he was seeing. Atlas narrowed his eyes, leaning down again so his scaly snout was meters from Draco.

"And that is more unrealistic than waving a wooden stick around that conducts miracles?" He argued. Draco opened his mouth to respond but stopped short when he realized Atlas had a point. Draco swallowed uneasily, just as Atlas cocked his head in challenge.

"That's different." Draco protested weakly. Atlas made a sarcastic noise of agreement, eyeing Draco with amusement.

"I'm sure it is." He drawled. Draco glared in response.

"It _is_." The boy tried to defend himself, but it was weak even to his ears.

"Draco, whether you believe it or not, you are my son. You _are_ a Dragonborn." Atlas reiterated, moving away to give Draco space.

"Fine." Draco ground out, continuing to glare up at the Dragon above him. _Surreal_ couldn't even come near to describe what he was experiencing right now. "Say I believe you. Say I believe that this isn't some twisted, messed up dream. Why are Dragonborns considered nothing but fairytales then? Hm?" Draco asked, gaining confidence. Atlas didn't answer but his eyes narrowed. "You forget, my name means Dragon. I could name every single species of Dragon, their strengths, their weaknesses _and_ the colour of their eggs. I've read about Dragonborns, how they were an ancient shapeshifter species. How have wizards not seen them before?"

"If no one has seen them, where do you think the stories came from?" Atlas countered, somehow managing to raise the dragon equivalent of an eyebrow. Draco could not think of an excuse for that. "Let me explain, Draco. All I ask, is you listen."

Draco stilled, considering Atlas' request. He frowned, before crossing his arms in front of his chest, sending Atlas his most defiant glare.

"Start explaining then." He arrogantly ordered. Atlas narrowed his eyes at his pompous tone but started talking nonetheless.

"Long ago, before even the time of Merlin, the world was a much simpler than it is today." Atlas began. Draco frowned.

"Are you really going to explain it like _that_?" He asked, chuckling at the ridiculous tone. Atlas narrowed his eyes.

"Are you really going to keep interrupting me?" He countered, glaring dangerously down at the boy. Draco's mocking grin vanished instantly, face paling at the sight of those sharp teeth.

"As I was saying," Atlas continued, capturing Draco's attention, "muggles were aware of the magical world but rather than fear it, they embraced it. The wizards themselves were still so new that the term 'pureblood' had no meaning, learning their magic from parents or mentors alike. Magic was more raw - more feral - wands not needed to cast even the most powerful of spells and enchantments, with magical creatures roaming free and far, unbarred and unshackled."

Atlas paused, lowering his head. Draco frowned again, wandering what he was doing now. Sending Draco one last glance, Atlas turned, before fire erupted from his mighty jaws, bathing two nearby logs in flames. Draco jumped back in fear, shielding his face from the heat using his arm. When he lowered it again, Atlas had leaned back, the stream of fire finished. However, the logs were now alight instead, spitting and spluttering as the fire gained life.

Atlas turned to Draco, locking his gaze with the shocked eyes of the boy. Then he spoke.

"But in a world so full of both light and dark, there still needed to be order that tamed the chaos. And thus, the Dragonborns rose."

As if Atlas' words were a spell, the fire suddenly reared up, crackling with magical intensity. Draco's eyes widened as he watched the flames form images, magic morphing the flames into the undeniable figure of a man that suddenly grew fiery wings. The fire dragon roared soundlessly, more fire flowing from its mouth. Even as a wizard, magic never ceased to amaze Draco.

"Much like an animagus, Dragonborns were people who had the ability to transform at will." Atlas explained as the fire danced, mirroring the spoken words. "Their dragon appearance reflected their soul, much like how a patronus did. However, the ability of a Dragonborn was not something that could be learnt like with an animagus, nor was it a curse that was transferred like with werewolves and other were-folk. In fact, Dragonborns were often considered an entirely different species altogether, separate from both wizards and muggles alike."

"Even in human form, Dragonborns were not necessarily human in nature. They are stronger and certainly more agile, with senses that were just as enhanced as their emotions. Because of this, if their emotions or powerful instincts ever spiraled out of control, they often transformed unintentionally, even if normally they could control when and where they transformed, similar to veelas. And that made them more dangerous than any werewolf."

"Moreover, like many magical creatures, Dragonborns used their own strain of ancient and powerful magic, that didn't need to be cast with a spell or even a wand. Instead, their magic came from within and reacted to their emotions, logical intentions and instincts, much like their ability to shift into a dragon did. It was because of these extraordinary abilities that made them powerful, equally feared and revered throughout the world. They were often associated with great kingdoms of centuries past, of power and the highest royalty."

"In fact, if the Dragonborns weren't Kings or Queens themselves, they stood by the side of monarchs as equals anyway, serving as guardians of the Kingdoms and Empires they helped build. Back then, wizards and witches were not powerful enough to fight off the dragons that destroyed the lands, just as defenseless against them as the muggles were, so the Dragonborns often served as protectors against their violent counter-parts, as well as protectors against any other threat the people were at mercy to, including the blood-lust of the vampires, the savagery of the werewolves and the trickery of the Fae."

Images of thrones and castles engulfed the flames, Dragons flying high above lands of magic. Figures danced among the flames to songs Draco could not hear, the figures themselves distinctly not human. Draco saw the flash of dragon fire, the fangs of vampires, the full moon among the clouds and the wings of the Fae, their unnatural eyes hidden among the fire.

"Dragonborns were warriors, leaders and protectors. Under their rule and protection, the magical and non-magical world thrived. However, nothing stays pure for long. Time is corruption's greatest ally." Atlas paused just as the peaceful dance of the flames took a violent turn. The fire reared up in fury, spitting and hissing, causing Draco to take a step back in fear. As Atlas continued, his dark tone matched the ferocity of the flames.

"Although different in many aspects, wizards and muggles were more alike than they cared to admit. As time passed, their power grew, and therefore, so did their greed. The peaceful lands the Dragonborns had helped create, or created themselves, soon fell due to mankind's greed and lust for power. The muggles began to try and purge the world of magic, just as the wizards sought to purge the world of muggles. Wars raged as Dragonborns were caught in the crossfire, forced to choose sides. In the end, the side they chose didn't matter, as both wizards and muggles turned their fury upon the Dragonborns, seeking to purge them from the world too."

Draco's eyes widened as he watched in horror as violent images played out among the flames. Muggles and wizards waging war, swords and arrows against spells and magical creatures. Dragons reigning down on cities, a world consumed by fire. The fall of Kingdoms. The rise of Empires. And finally, black spears impaling dragons in the sky. Chains wrapping around their wings, imprisoning them deep beneath the castles of a time long forgotten. Pyres built of straw and wood, wizards and witches screaming as the fire ate their flesh, the absence of sound to the fiery images only serving to make Draco feel sick.

"Fearing their future," Atlas continued unfazed by the horror, regaining Draco's attention, "seven Dragonborn Kings and Queens combined their magic, sacrificed themselves to create a world where their kin, and any other magical creatures who sought refuge from the prejudiced slaughter, could be safe, hidden away from both the wizarding and muggle world. There, they thrived again, building cities that rivaled any other, magic and technology way ahead of anything else found on earth."

In response to Atlas' words, new images took form among the flames. Seven figures standing in a ring, quickly morphing into seven dragons, all of different sizes, appearances and shapes. A fiery hole, leading to a world sketched by the flames – flying islands of beauty, cities that rose to the sky, skyscrapers taller than trees. All unique in design, shape and form. Seven districts. Three sectors. A world of magical creatures.

"Woah…" Draco breathed, transfixed by the sight. Atlas chuckled, before telling the end of the story.

"As for the wizarding and muggle worlds, little changed. History constantly repeated itself, prejudice and suppression sweeping across the earth like an unstoppable plague." As Atlas spoke the flames morphed once again, images of infamous points in history forming among the orange fire, many that Draco would not know the meaning of.

Empires rising and falling, buildings of stone and wood rising only to tumble to ground, nothing left but ruins. Roman armor. Turk helmets. Faces of powerful Wizards and Witches, such as Merlin and Morgana. The silhouette of Hogwarts. Wooden machines that travelled across the seas, the fire spitting as it mimicked the sea spray of the waves. The crack of whips against people's backs. First among the sand dunes, surrounded by pyramids of stone. Then among the grasslands and forests, surrounded by settlements connected by railroad. Faces of young wizards, dueling among the fire, exploding spells causing the fire to rear up and spit with heat. The dark silhouette of the Deathly Hallows. The deafening sound of the muggle weapons firing over muddied land and barbed wire. The face of a man saluting the crowd, a weird black cross highlighted by the flames. Towers of black brick emitting blacker smoke.

Finally, the image of the one thing Draco could never forget. The fire morphed one last time, the curling snake of the Dark Mark hissing at Draco from its safety among the flames.

"And, over time, truth turned to legend, or so they say." Atlas finished, the fire dying as his last words were spoken, withering into faint glowing embers. And over time, even those vanished into ashes, blowing away with the wind.

A silence enveloped the two. Draco closed his mouth, suddenly aware he had been gaping in disbelief, trying to gain back his composure.

"You're a crap storyteller." Draco insulted, using it to hide his amazement. It did not fool Atlas, a smug smirk of amusement flickering on his face.

"That was no story, Draco. That was history. _Your_ history." He stressed, clearly wanting Draco to understand the importance of that statement. Draco shook his head in denial.

"You are a Dragonborn, Draco. More importantly, you are the descendant of one of those seven Dragonborn Kings and Queens – some may say the greatest of them all. The King of Kings. The Dragonborn who lead the magical world to sanctuary from wizarding and muggle wrath – King Draconis Ambrosious." Atlas explained. Draco was almost certain the dragon had puffed out his chest with the pride he laced the speech with, but he had no time to dwell on it because he had already put two and two together, realizing something else.

"Wait so does that mean that you're a-"

"King?" Atlas interrupted, his dragon lips curling into a smile as a rumbling, beastly chuckle echoed and escaped his throat. Draco's eyes only widened further when Atlas lowered his mighty head, fanning his wings out at his sides as he moved to kneel – the dragon clearly bowing before him. "King Atlas Ambrosius, at your service, my Prince."

"Prince?" Draco frowned in confusion.

"High Prince, actually. As my only heir, and since I have no other relations, you are the next in line to the Ambrosius throne." Atlas corrected, as he rose once more.

"I'm a Prince. A Dragonborn Prince." Draco breathed, a smile beginning to form on his face, lighting it up.

"Yes, you are." Atlas smiled back, making Draco grin wider. However, his grin faltered, the knowledge he had learnt fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, suddenly making sense. Atlas was his father, Narcissa was still his mother. But they weren't married.

"But…You never married my mother, so surely that makes me an illegitimate heir. I-I'm a bastard." Draco stuttered out the words, the foul language feeling like lead as they rolled off his tongue, making it feel like a curse. Atlas frowned, his eyes carrying warning.

"A human's views on legitimacy stem from the old religious views of purity and the right to ascension to heaven – you have to live a life without sin to earn a place there. We are not human Draco. We do not worship an almighty power or deity. At one time, our kind were even considered Gods to some cultures. There is no such thing as an illegitimate child within our culture, Draco. In fact, for Dragonborns, marriage itself is rarely ever implemented." Atlas explained, providing a reassurance Draco didn't know he needed. He seemed surprised at such a broad difference in culture.

"Dragonborns don't marry?" He questioned, clearly not believing Atlas.

"Those that live within the wizarding world do, to keep up appearances. But, no, the majority of Dragonborns never marry, and none believe in its importance." Atlas confirmed.

"Why?"

"Dragonborns are creatures of magic. We form magical bonds with people easily, with family members and friends. The bonds we make with the people we love are greater than any vow we could ever make."

"Sounds romantic." Draco managed a smirk, but it was half-hearted, and didn't have the bite it used to. Atlas noticed, but let Draco change the conversation, knowing the manipulation for what it was.

"You have no idea. But I will explain that another day."

An awkward silence followed, the conversation dying. Draco shuffled his feet, nervous under the powerful gaze of the dragon looming above him. Anxious, Draco began to walk around, his mind trying to digest everything he had learnt.

"So...you're my father. Atlas Ambrosius. And you're an ancient shapeshifting dragon. A Dragonborn King who pretends to be a wizard recluse to hide the secret of your heritage. By extension then, I'm not only not a wizard, not a Malfoy or a pureblood, but a High Prince - Draco Ambrosius, a Dragonborn. Just like you. Did I miss anything?" Draco summarized, frowning.

"Don't be ashamed of what you are Draco. You don't need to say it like it's a curse." Atlas warned, disapproval evident in his voice. Draco seemed to close off, an anger sparking in his eyes.

"But that isn't exactly correct is it?" He snapped.

"What are you talking about?" Atlas asked, frowning.

"Growing up, I don't think I ever saw him proud of me. All I ever achieved was disappointing him." Draco paused again, thinking about the latest event to displease his father. _How could a Malfoy lose to a Potter? Did you even attempt to catch the snitch, Draco?_

"Now I know why. It all makes sense now. Can't have a Dragonborn as a Malfoy, now can you?" Draco snarled, anger shining through. Now the shock was beginning to wear off, other emotions were starting to surface about his predicament. He'd always known his mother loved him, affectionate and caring soul as she was. His father, however, was another story. These days, his relationship with his father consisted of showing respect, not speaking unless spoken to, and making him proud by fulfilling his duties as the heir of Malfoy and living up to expectations thrust upon him. "I'm not even human, and neither are you. How is that a good thing?"

This last comment seemed to ignite the rage inside Atlas too, making the dragon let out a low growl as he next spoke.

"We are not monsters, Draco. Did you not listen to what I said before? About how the world used to be, how creatures roamed free? We weren't always hunted. There was a time when being something different was the greatest gift on earth." Atlas snarled forcefully, though Draco didn't back down.

He just felt so _angry_. Angry at Atlas, at Lucius – even his mother. He was enraged by the whole situation, by what they had done. What had been the point? Why raise him as a wizard if he had never been one? Had they not noticed he had always felt different, yet never knew why? Why did Lucius fill his head with all the Malfoy duties, knowing he was never a Malfoy, knowing he could never fulfill them? Was everything he knew a _lie_?

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Draco erupted, frustrated, confused and angry.

"Humanity happened." Atlas snapped, a furious fire dancing behind his eyes. His voice was harsh, making Draco flinch at the words. A pause emerged between them as Draco took in the significance of that statement, Atlas sighing as he let go of his frustration.

"I won't lie to you Draco. Many of our kind do not think well of humans. When they attacked us, all those centuries ago, the wrath of our kind burned cities to the ground. Our anger was our downfall, only proving to them that we were the monsters they needed to fear. But rather than admit to our own mistakes, many of our kind still hold great hatred towards humanity, just like how wizards hate anything different from them. The term 'monster' is not defined by a creature who is uncivilized or different. A monster is a thing without any of the most important aspect of humanity – compassion. In my experience, there are more men that fit that description than any creature you will find in this world." Atlas paused, letting the gravity of what he had just said hit Draco. The boy looked shaken, the power that the Dragonborns held appearing daunting, but he kept his expression neutral.

"Draco, Lucius may not be your blood father, and he certainly isn't trustworthy when it comes to making the right choices, but he does love you. Even I can't deny that fact." Atlas admitted, voice gentle and quiet now, which was a high achievement since he currently looked like a dragon.

"Yes, well he has a funny way of showing it." Draco scoffed, refusing to look at Atlas as he spoke, bitterness lacing his voice.

"He's a Malfoy. They're not very good at showing anything." Atlas pointed out, a small smile emerging on his dragon face. Draco finally looked at him, returning the smile before he could stop himself.

"What happens now?" He asked uncertainly. Atlas gave him a look of complete sincerity, determination and an underlying kindness leaking into his expression.

"You get to be you, Draco. No more lies. I swear on my life." Atlas promised.

They stood in the clearing for a long time, Draco asking more questions with Atlas answering as best as he could. When they finally left, Atlas shifting back to his human form, they walked in silence through the Forbidden Forest. The crescent moon was at its highest point in the sky, casting a silver light on their shoulders as they strolled back the way they had come.

"Atlas?" Draco asked tentatively, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Draco?" Atlas answered from Draco's side, turning to look at him.

"I don't have to call you Father, do I?" He asked, tentatively. Atlas glanced at Draco, noting the boy's anxiety.

"You've already have a Father, Draco. I think you should reserve that term for him, don't you?" Atlas suggested, a kind, understanding tone to his voice. Draco met his gaze, eyes thankful, but surprised.

It was that moment that Draco realized that this man was much different to Lucius Malfoy. Atlas was giving him choice – it was _his_ decision.

Atlas sent Draco a small, reassuring smile. For the first time that night, Draco returned the gesture.

"Atlas it is then."


	5. A Mother's Love, A Father's Pride

**AN: This chapter gave me a lot of grief when I first wrote it. In the end, it became some good old character development. Feel free to love or hate the characters.**

* * *

 _Tell me, father,_

 _which to ask forgiveness for:_

 _what I am, or what I'm not?_

 _Tell me, mother,_

 _which should I regret:_

 _what I became, or what I didn't?_

* * *

CHAPTER 5:

A Mother's Love, A Father's Pride

Atlas Ambrosius was a Dragonborn. Therefore, as his son by blood, so was he.

For the past few days, Draco was still trying to absorb that rather surreal revelation. When Atlas explained how they were both of royal blood and descendants of one of the seven Dragonborn Kings, before preceding to describe the tale of how the Dragonborns had survived the Purge while others hid in plain sight, the idea stopped being absurd and just became impossible. Hiding from wizards, for hundreds, if not thousands of years? Ridiculous.

When Atlas pointed out that wizards had lived alongside the muggles without being noticed for nearly two centuries, Draco was left lost for words. The man had a point after all, even if it was insulting. Surely wizards weren't just as naive and brainless as muggles, not noticing when an entire other world resided amongst them… Right?

Draco was severely shaken by the fact he couldn't answer that question with certainty.

According to Atlas, a Dragonborn came of age when they turned thirteen, an age where their body changed, their 'Dragon' as Atlas called it, emerging. It could only be described as a Dragonborn version of puberty, only the height of it occurred in a matter of months rather than years.

Atlas explained that Draco's sometimes insatiable appetite was due to his body trying to gain enough strength so it would be strong enough for his first transformation, his sudden preference of meat blamed on the fact Dragons by nature, were carnivores. The emergence of both the scales and reptilian pupils meant his first transformation was getting closer, while his sleepless nights due to a scorching fever was his insides morphing, readying his body to grow extra internal mechanisms that controlled a dragon's ability to breathe fire, fire that Draco soon learned, could reach a temperature of 1000 degrees Celsius.

The ache behind his eyes that only got worse by the day was his body growing extra cones in his retinas to not only see ultraviolet much like most birds, but also enable him to witness colours which humans could never even comprehend let alone describe. All those changes were the reason a dragon could spot prey from 6000 feet, their six optic nerves enabling them to see light on all ends of the light spectrum. Consequently, camouflage was practically useless against a dragon's eyesight as the subtle differences in shades of colour for humans, was like declaring black and white were the same colour for dragons. This was also the reason why invisibilty charms were useless against Dragonborns.

Atlas also warned him about how his bones would soon begin to ache so deeply the pain would be unbearable if a pain potion wasn't administered, since a dragon's bones were hollow and lightweight, which enabled the ability of flight. Or, in other words, his bone marrow would be literally withering away.

It was definitely _not_ a cheerful conversation.

When Draco had complained about the experience being so painful, Atlas had told him to be just thankful he wasn't a girl. Apparently, they had a great deal more pain receptor nerves in their body, so much so that when a female Dragonborn underwent the change, the experience put the agony of childbirth to shame. That comment had succeeded in shutting him up.

Even so, Atlas had reassured him the first transformation and lead up to it, although painful, would be the only transformation like that. Afterwards, the transformation was supposed to be not only easier, but also painless and eventually, as natural as breathing. Draco was not looking forward to testing that theory, due to the pain he was experiencing in the present.

After they had returned to the Manor that night, Atlas had declared he would be staying in one of the guest rooms. And it really was a declaration rather than a request. When his father had scoffed at Atlas' boldness, asking in his usual pompous voice 'Is that really necessary?', much to Draco's own amusement, Atlas had replied with 'Well, unless you want Draco to burn you to a crisp by mistake once he learns how to breathe fire, it may be in your best interests that I stay, Malfoy'. Draco barely bit back his laugh at that comment, especially with the way his father had paled considerably.

So, that was how he ended up lying in bed for the rest of the week, so heavily dosed with pain potion his whole body felt fuzzy from the numbness, with Atlas staying in a room down the hall. The potion also made him drowsy, meaning he either slept all day or stayed in a half-awake, half-asleep state that was not enjoyable. He still hadn't properly talked to his parents, even though he was still bursting with questions. The truth was, he was both too cowardly and angry to gain enough resolve to talk to them. He was afraid of the answers he would receive, just as much as he was furious with them for keeping his heritage from him. And that was before he even got started on what he was supposed to think about everything they had taught him.

After all, if they had lied about his heritage, what else had they lied about?

There was a knock at the door, the noise making Draco groan loudly from where he lay tangled in the blankets. He flipped over, his face now smothering the pillow as he pulled the blankets over his head. Whoever it was, he would rather avoid the confrontation.

The knocking returned, more urgent this time. Draco groaned into the pillow, muttering a string of rude sounding comments under his breath.

"C'min." He called, his voice slightly muffled because of the pillow.

There was a click as the door opened, and Draco lifted his head slightly to see his visitor. He was expecting Atlas, or one of the house elves, _not_ his mother.

"Draco." His mother greeted, coming to halt a few meters from his bed. Draco hadn't been feeling awake before, but he certainly was now.

"Mother." Draco returned the greeting, even if it was slightly delayed due to his surprise. He heaved himself into a sitting position, soon regretting it when he felt a sudden wave of both dizziness and pain.

"Careful, Draco. You have to take it easy, dear." His mother was beside him in an instant, firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. Draco rolled onto his back just as he felt the mattress dip in the exact place his mother had sat down.

"Mother, I –"

"Shh. Drink this Draco." His mother ordered, pushing a vial to his lips. In no condition to argue, he drank the offered potion, immediately feeling a sense of relief as the pain lessened somewhat. He had been due to take another dose.

When he finished downing the whole thing, his mother placed the vial on the bedside table, before returning her gaze to him. Her expression was softer than he ever remembered it to be, and he held her gaze as she pushed a few strands of his light wet hair from his feverish forehead in a loving gesture.

But the moment did not last long. Draco soon remembered his anger directed towards his so-called parents, and he quickly recoiled from his mother's touch, averting his gaze. The flash of hurt that crossed his mother's face made his heart clench with guilt, along with causing something deep within his chest to roar in fury. However, Narcissa Malfoy was a strong woman, and she quickly hid her emotions behind a wall of steel.

"I'll take my leave then. Rest, Draco. Atlas expressed repeatedly about how you'd need your rest." His mother stated, her words colder than before. She stood up to leave, Draco way too aware of how the mattress returned to its previous position, her presence no longer offering comfort to the raging creature inside his chest, its roar resonating through his mind.

"Wait."

She stopped mid-step at hearing his low voice, turning to look back at her son, who still refused to meet her eyes.

"Please don't go." Draco's pleading voice was barely above a whisper, but she still heard it. "I-I don't want you to go."

There were a few seconds of complete silence as Draco waited for his mother to respond, by either ignoring his plea and leaving the room, or by coming to sit back down beside him.

"Draco, I will not stay if you refuse to talk to me." She stated, still expressionless.

"Why do we have to talk? Can't you just...stay?" Draco looked up then, finally looking up at her. "Please." He added as an afterthought. Draco rarely said 'please'. He was too used to getting what he wanted without a fight, the word never needed. His mother knew, because of this, that when he used it now, he meant it.

His mother's expression softened again before she sighed, brow now scrunched up into a worried frown.

"Very well."

Draco averted his eyes again as his mother walked back over, gently sitting down next to him this time, rather than at the foot of the bed. There were a few beats of awkward silence before his mother sighed, lifting up her arms in an invitation for him to hug her. He didn't need asking twice.

Shuffling closer, he snuggled into her side as she lifted her legs up to lay on the bed with him, both sat up against the headboard. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight as he laid his head against her chest. He was still angry, still full of raging emotions, but for the time being, he let them go. He felt alone, desperately so, and his mother was the only one offering him true comfort. She was the only one who ever had.

"You feel cold." He mumbled, shivering at the touch of his scales against her smooth, unblemished skin. They covered him completely now. The transformation was getting closer.

"I'm afraid that's the fever, my dragon. It's you who feels hot." She explained, hugging him tighter. He didn't protest, just as he didn't protest to the term of endearment. She rarely called him that now, normally only if she was worried or feeling particularly emotional. When he was little, she had called him that nickname often, something a five-year-old Draco loved. He remembered well the days where his young mind imagined wings on his back, and fire flowing from his mouth. The imagination of a child was a powerful thing, but never had Draco ever believed it could become reality.

"Why did you name me Draco?" He asked after a while, giving in to the temptation to talk.

"You mean, why did I name a Dragonborn child the Latin name for dragon? Is it not obvious?" She turned her head towards his, eyes sparkling with that amusement Draco recognized.

"Of course, it is, Mother. But why? I mean, why name me Dragon the Dragonborn? It's stupid." Draco pouted.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it is, but I wished to carry on Black tradition. Draco is a constellation, as you know, and I believed it suits you well. It still does." She reasoned, shuffling on the bed to enable herself to look at his face, her full attention on him.

"Didn't Atlas object? What did fath- I mean Lucius think?" Draco asked hesitantly, swallowing. His mother tensed beside him, moving away from his embrace so she could stare down at him with those stern eyes.

"Draco, you can call him your father. That is who he is." She pointed out, frowning. A spark of anger flashed in Draco's eyes. He pulled away from her slightly, avoiding her gaze as he fiddled with his hands.

"Not by blood."

"No." His mother agreed, her eyes on the bed sheets. "But to be honest, Atlas is right. He always was. Blood has no concern when it comes down to family. I was afraid I would not be able to love you once you were born because you were not my husband's son." His mother paused as she noticed the tension in his shoulders, reaching for his chin so she could turn his head to face her, coaxing him to look at her.

"But as soon as I saw you for the first time, I knew. I knew I loved you and I knew, Draco, that you would _always_ be my dragon. I knew I would always love you." She stroked his cheek, her face transforming into a tender smile that lit up her features.

"And as for what your father thought," she continued, waving his concerns away, "because of your blood, my pregnancy was not a steady one. By the time you were born, he did not care what you were called, just that he had you as his son, and me still by his side."

"And Atlas?" Draco asked quietly, clearly swayed by her words, though stubbornly refusing to admit it. His mother smiled knowingly.

"Atlas loved the idea. Many Dragonborn families are fascinated with constellations and gods themselves, including the Ambrosius family. Atlas is the name of the Greek Titan who held up the heavens, after all. Your name boded well for your future as a Dragonborn Prince. My little dragon prince." She grinned down at him, planted a kiss upon his hair while Draco tried to pull away.

"Mum..." Draco whined, trying to fight his smile. He was supposed to be angry with her after all.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic." She brushed his hair away from his feverish forehead, and this time he didn't flinch away.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie?" Draco asked after a pause, though his voice no longer held any venom. Instead, it was laden with exhaustion and perhaps disappointment. His mother's smile faltered as she visibly swallowed.

"I didn't want to. But it was necessary."

"Why?" Draco asked, looking up at her. He frowned, the hint of anger spreading across his face. His mother tucked a stray hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture, carefully considering what to say next.

"Your father did not want to lose you, so he tried to raise you as a wizard so that you could fully experience the wizarding world, uninfluenced by any Dragonborn beliefs." She tried to explain. Draco scoffed, frowning angrily.

"So, in other words, he manipulated me?" He snarled, pulling away completely from his mother. She grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place, her face stern.

"No, Draco, it wasn't like that. Your father did what he believed was best for you. He still does everything he believes is best for you."

"Even if it isn't? Even if it's all a _lie_?" He exclaimed, frustrated by his mother's insistence. She seemed to flinch, her cool mask slipping, if only for a moment.

"Whatever brought that line of thought on?"

"I don't know… I-I guess I… I don't know what I can trust anymore." Draco admitted, a defeated note to his voice. His shoulders slumped and he refused to look up at her. His mother sighed, a sympathetic expression now on her face.

"Draco. Listen to me very carefully. You a Dragonborn Prince, a direct descendant of not only Merlin, but also the Dragonborn King of Kings, Draconis Ambrosius. You are also a Black and my son. _My_ son. More than that, you are a Malfoy, in everything but blood. You were raised a Malfoy and you will still be a Malfoy until the day you die." She declared with conviction, shaking his shoulders, as if it would make the words sink in. Draco looked shocked by her speech, staring up at her with wide eyes. Inside, he felt his heart warm a little.

She wanted him. He was her son. Even though he was not a wizard, not a pureblood - little more than a beast - she said he was still her son. Draco knew she wasn't lying. The cool mask she wore to fool everyone was gone, replaced by honest eyes that implored him to believe her, to listen. Eyes, he noticed, that were the same shade of his own.

"Do you understand?" She asked, voice cracking, her emotions starting to overflow. Draco swallowed.

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Don't listen to anything else you hear, you understand me? You are my son and you are a Malfoy. _Never_ doubt that." She cupped his face, voice strong as he forced him to listen, to believe her.

"I won't." Draco reassured her.

"I know you won't." His mother smiled then, her hands still cupping his face as she planted another tender kiss upon his hair, before pulling him into a tight hug. And this time, Draco did not pull away but only hugged her tighter.

However, even though his heart had settled, mending a little from when it had been broken, he wasn't healed. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But even though he knew now that he could never doubt _her_ , that didn't mean he wouldn't doubt everything else. The scars would take longer to fade.

* * *

The days passed in a blur for Draco. Atlas visited him a few times, telling him about the Ambrosius family tree and Dragonborn culture, giving him something to listen to in his weak state. He felt awful and understandably, claustrophobic. He hadn't left his personal suite in over a week, and had spent the last few days in bed, only leaving it to relieve himself. It was driving him crazy. Not to mention, the pain got worse each day. He was in agony now.

His mother was the only one who seemed to be able to sooth him. Atlas' presence could calm whatever _thing_ was starting to awaken inside his chest, the familiar Dragonborn presence providing him with a magical comfort. However, his mother was the one who could get him to fall asleep. She sat beside his bed each night, like she used to when he was sick as a toddler, talking to him, using her voice as the sound that lulled him to sleep. She often ran her fingers through his damp hair, skin slick with sweat from the fever, talking to him in hushed tones. Sometimes she even sang, softly humming the lullabies from his infancy.

In the day, she read to him, or simply read silently beside his bed while he drifted in and out of consciousness. He thought he remembered hearing his father's voice once, talking to his mother while he slept but when he woke up, Lucius was gone. Draco didn't see him. Not once.

He had forgiven his mother by this point. However, it had been _Lucius_ who decided to keep the truth from him. _Lucius_ who convinced Atlas to agree to the plan. Draco didn't feel any forgiveness towards his father. As his condition escalated, the pain and discomfort becoming too much to bare, his attitude only worsened, becoming angry. He needed someone to blame.

Atlas said it was because Dragonborns felt every emotion more powerfully. His higher sensitivity to emotion was just a side effect of the transition, and of the physical suffering he was experiencing. _How bloody brilliant_.

One day, he was in his bed, staring drowsily at his mother as she read silently, leant back in the old polished oak rocking chair she had claimed as her own while she doted over him. Draco knew she fussed too much, not that he was complaining. The house elves were perfectly capable of taking care of him, but she refused to leave his side.

He observed her, thinking over all the recent events of the past week and a half. The more he thought about it, the more he began to despise his father. He was nothing but another pawn in one of his father's games. All in the name of _Malfoy_ pride.

"What is it?" His mother asked, eyes not leaving the pages of her book. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose, hair tied into an elegant bun.

"Nothing." Draco sighed, burying himself in the bedsheets, turning over so he laid on his back. _Stupid aching bones._ Why couldn't he get comfortable?

"It's not nothing, Draco. I know that look." She persisted, removing her glasses and closing her book, diverting her full attention to him. "So, what is it?"

Draco sighed, looking up at the bed canopy above him, the royal blue drapes hanging meters above his head.

"It doesn't matter." He muttered eventually. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother narrowing her eyes.

"…Very well." His mother seemed to hesitate a few seconds more, as if deciding on something. Draco fought the urge to squirm under her intense gaze.

"Well, I think I'm going to leave for a while." She eventually declared, standing up. She moved to his bedside, planting a kiss on his cheek before rising once more. "Maybe find a new book to read. This one is becoming rather tedious as of late. Get some rest, dear." She suggested, before leaving his suite, too quick for him to protest. Draco listened to the door click shut in amazement, not quite believing how quick she had dropped the subject. Moreover, her departure was rather…sudden.

Draco's eyes widened, forcing himself into a sitting position as he eyed the closed door with growing dread.

 _Damn it._ His mother was planning something.

* * *

It wasn't long before he heard the door open again. Maybe an hour, or less, though Draco wasn't entirely sure, his days spent in bed blurring his perception of time. However, it wasn't his mother who walked through the door, oh no - _it was his father_.

Lucius seemed annoyed to be inside the room, his face set in that horrible expression that made him look like he was looking down on dirt. If Draco hadn't grown up with him as his father, he might have been fooled. But Draco knew Lucius well. The restless way he held his cane and the determined avoidance of Draco's eyes were big giveaways.

Lucius Malfoy was nervous.

Draco frowned, glaring at his so-called father. Mentally, Draco even scoffed at the thought of his father being nervous. He and his Dad used to be close. Conspiring against his mother to sneak sweets into the house, brewing potions together in his Dad's personal lab, Draco still too small to see over the bench so his dad used to lift him up, rough-housing. Back when he'd been the favoured son and heir and could do no wrong. Back before he'd gone to Hogwarts and become a constant source of disappointment. Back before he learned he was never a Malfoy in the first place. Before he learnt his father had lied.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, forcefully. Lucius seemed to bristle at Draco's tone, narrowing his eyes on his adoptive son.

"Do not talk to me with that tone, Draco. We may have established over the last week that I am not your father, but I will not tolerate disrespect from you." Lucius warned, making Draco's defiant expression falter. However, within seconds it was back in full force, now accompanied with a fiery glare.

"Well, is that clear?" His father demanded.

"Sorry, _father_." In normal circumstances, Draco would have backed down, bowed his head and apologized. But he felt so angry. No – this wasn't anger. This was fury. And, as usual, his rage came flowing out as perfectly executed sarcasm.

Lucius stiffened, shocked by the unexpected reaction. _Serves him right_ , Draco thought. _I'm done playing his games_.

"Do you understand now? This is why I kept the truth from you. You are too much like your father – impulsive, holding grudges for the smallest of conflicts." Lucius snarled, obviously referring to Atlas. This only made Draco's rage spike.

Atlas wasn't an saint, Draco knew that. In fact, while he was alone with his thoughts, he had plenty of time to contemplate his blood father, coming to the conclusion he held quite an amount of anger towards him too for agreeing to the damn arrangement. But this wasn't about Atlas. This was about Lucius, his _father_. Atlas had never claimed to be his father, going so far as to insist that Draco keep addressing Lucius as his father, but Lucius had, and that was what made the betrayal worse. The fact that Lucius now was trying to direct the blame on Atlas made Draco's blood boil.

"YOU LIED TO ME MY WHOLE LIFE!" Draco yelled, rising into a sitting position.

"And so did your mother, yet you have forgiven her easily enough, have you not?" Lucius snapped back at him, the elder Malfoy's own anger starting to overthrow him. Draco's face darkened at the mention of his mother.

"Why are you here?"

"You wished to talk to me." His father answered, face annoyed now.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did, or I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

"I don't want to talk to you. In fact, I think I would be perfectly fine with never talking to you for the rest of my life." Draco snapped, not looking at Lucius. Therefore, he missed the brief flash of something cross the man's face, flinching upon hearing Draco's words. However, by the time Draco turned back around, the cold façade was back in place, now showing hints of a barely controlled anger.

"You asked to see me, Draco. _Not_ the other way around." Lucius stated, an edge to his voice.

"Oh really? And who told you that?"

"Your-" Lucius stopped mid-sentence, his cold expression morphing into one of realization. " _Of course_." He exclaimed bitterly.

"What?" Draco frowned in confusion.

"Your mother. She informed me you wished to speak with me." Lucius muttered, letting Draco work out the underlying meaning himself. He realized within a few seconds, eyes widening a fraction in revelation, before his features morphed once again into a dark scowl.

"She's _supposed_ to be on my side." He pointed out. Lucius raised an eyebrow in response.

"She's a Black at heart. They have no side but their own." His father informed him.

"And I guess a Malfoy is different?" Draco asked, before he raised a hand, faking recollection. "Oh, wait – they're not."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" His father ground out, his teeth clenched in outrage.

"Stop it." Draco suddenly demanded, all traces of sarcasm and playfulness gone from his voice. It was ice cold.

"Stop _what_?" His father asked in confusion. Draco's anger seemed to flare once more, lips curling up into a feral snarl.

"Stop acting. Stop pretending. Stop _fucking_ lying- "

"Careful, boy. I will not tolerate such language in this house-"

"I don't care about what you tolerate." Draco snapped. "You lied to me. I'm not a pureblood. I'm not even a wizard, let alone a Malfoy." Draco paused, fists clenched at his sides. He laughed bitterly, the laugh more a release of air than anything. "So much for being triply special, right Dad?"

Lucius' face shattered, mask falling instantly. He swallowed, taking a step closer to Draco's bedside, a hand rising to touch Draco's shoulder. His voice was tenderly low when he next spoke.

"…Draco…son-"

"Don't." Draco cut in sharply, shrugging his hand away. "I get it now. You made a business arrangement. And I was the investment."

" _Draco_ -"

"You couldn't live with the shame of ending the Malfoy line, so you made sure you had me. A Dragonborn Prince." Draco continued, speaking over Lucius. "Quite the power play you achieved there, _father_." He spat.

A silence stretched between the two. Lucius swallowed, his soft expression quickly disappearing from his face, only to be replaced by something that carried dangerous warning.

"You forget Atlas and your mother were a part of this too, Draco." Lucius reminded him coldly.

"Maybe. But at least they wanted a son. You just wanted an heir. All you were concerned about was your pride."

"Is that what you believe?"

"Do you deny it?" Draco asked. Lucius didn't answer. A bitter, twisted smile crawled onto Draco's face. "I thought so."

"I know my actions do not appear to have the most benevolent intentions, but I didn't agree to it just because of my pride, as you so crudely put it." His father protested, the annoyance clear in his voice. Then his features softened, eyes avoiding Draco's glare as his voice lowered. "Your mother always wanted children. More than one – enough to fill the manor. You know I can never deny your mother anything."

"Oh, so your actions weren't completely self-centered. My mistake." Draco deadpanned. His father's glare intensified.

"Do not make me the villain here, Draco. I assure you, that is not the case. I did want a son."

"And what a huge disappointment I must have turned out to be." Draco quipped bitterly.

"Why do you twist my words?" Lucius asked, face scrunching up in frustration.

"Because you're trying to make out you chose me out of the good of your heart, when we all know you would neVER LET A BEAST BE A MALFOY IF THERE WAS ANY OTHER WAY!" Draco yelled, dragon eyes blazing.

Silence.

Draco swallowed. His father stood frozen, face contorted as if he had been physically slapped. Draco didn't feel any satisfaction from finally landing his father speechless. How could he? He was one of the monsters parents told their children about at night, no matter what Atlas claimed otherwise. He turned his gaze to the bedsheets, biting down on the sick taste in his mouth.

"You didn't choose me." He continued more quietly, barely louder than a whisper. "You were stuck with me. I was the only option you had."

"No." Lucius argued, swallowing as he gathered his thoughts. "I could have walked away. The Malfoy line could have ended with me. But I decided to continue the line with you. I chose _you_ as the next Malfoy."

Draco refused to look at him.

"You are my son, Draco. Believe what you will. With your stubborn attitude, I doubt I can convince you otherwise. But at least remember that."

Draco didn't turn around. But he heard the door click shut when his father left.


	6. Unleashed

**AN: I'm BACK! Yeah, I know, I'm a horrible person. I can't make promises. But with the world going through hell, I have a lot of free time here in the UK, in lockdown. So yeah. I'm going to finish this story. I'm determined too. I used to re-read and proof read this story all the time and I think it sent me a little bit crazy cause I actually didn't realize how good it is. Well, I think its good, you're welcome to disagree, entitled to your own opinion and all that. The point is, staring it for hours on end kind of saps the energy out of you so reading these chapters after weeks of not looking at them has opened my eyes. I'm feeling inspired. I'm ready to write.**

 **As I've said before, I have like the first 18 chapters already drafted so I'll probably spend the next week looking over these, finishing them, proof-reading them all. I'll start posting weekly, posting the finished chapters up and hopefully it will add to my new motivation to write more. Reviews would also help - despite what we claim, us writes love you guys sending nice comments our way. It makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm not kidding. Half the time I want to destroy my work or throw it into a supernova or something so you guys leaving a comment saying its fantastic or recalling your reactions makes me smile.**

 **Warning though, this story is pretty dark in places. Sure its got its fluffy moments, it action and bad ass scenes, but its got a truck load of angst too. I wanted to explore another side of the wizarding world (while adding an extra world of my own, cause please, even with fantastic beasts there is not enough magical creatures in the Harry Potter world, especially humanoid ones), a side that wasn't touched on due to Harry's 1st person perspective which was always one-sided. So yeah. Expect wealthy lifestyles of purebloods. Slytherin style. Cunning. Manipulation. And, especially in this chapter I gift to you (my favourite magical creatures of all time) - expect some bad ass dragons. Enjoy my lovelies ;)**

* * *

 _Only in darkness can you see the stars - Martin Luthor King Jr_

* * *

Chapter 6

Unleashed

It was Draco's screams that woke Atlas up that night. They ricocheted through the Manor's halls, sounds of agony and torment that flooded his ears and pierced his heart. The dragon within Atlas roared in fury, thrashing to be released so it could lessen its offspring's pain. He knew what was happening – the dragon could sense it.

It was time.

Atlas threw the bed sheets away, leaping out of the bed in barely controlled panic just as one of the Malfoy's house elves apparated into his suite.

"Mr. Ambrosius, young Master Draco is-"

"I know." Atlas quickly interrupted, his voice sharp and clipped. "Go inform Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Bitsy. _Now_." Atlas ordered as he grabbed his cloak off a nearby armchair, already making his way to the door with long, fast strides. He didn't bother changing out of his nightclothes.

"Yes sir. Bitsy will go right away sir." The elf whimpered, visibly shaken by the screams reverberating through the manor but she disappeared with a pop to carry out her orders.

Atlas had barely made it out of his suite when a louder, less human, scream shook the manor. The portraits hanging on the walls let out a few terrified shrieks of their own, covering their ears or cowering in fear. That was when Atlas started running.

He could remember his first shift clearly, the overwhelming agony forever burned into his mind. Now, experiencing it from a parent's view, Atlas finally understood why it had been so distressing for his mother. His stomach was flipping in worry and the dragon within was still roaring, trying to beat down the walls of its psychological cage.

Atlas crashed through Draco's door, letting it smash into the wall. Draco's form could be seen writhing in the bed, sheets trapping his limbs as he thrashed around, his voice still screaming itself hoarse and reptilian eyes glowing eerily in the darkness.

"Draco!" Atlas rushed over to his bedside, instantly grabbing the boy's arms to try and calm him. However, Draco's skin was as hot as fire and he was so caught up in his pain that he barely even noticed Atlas, as if he was immersed in horrors of a waking nightmare.

Atlas cursed, jumping onto the bed and pulling Draco into his arms, even if it was a challenge. Knowing restraining him would only hurt Draco further, Atlas held him loosely, instead deciding to speak reassuring words into Draco's ear in perfect, fluent Dragon Tongue. Draco would not understand the foreign words but the Dragon waking up inside him would.

"Draco! DRACO!" Narcissa's shrieks of panic were nearly loud enough to block out Draco's screams. "DRACO!" She yelled again, frantic as she rushed forward, Lucius appearing in the doorway behind her with an equally terrified expression, both still dressed in nightclothes.

"Narcissa, stay there! Lucius, grab her!" Atlas ordered, Lucius for once not arguing about being told what to do. He lunged forward before she could reach Draco, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back. Narcissa kicked and screamed, threatening to castrate him if he didn't let her go but Lucius held firm. Growing up alongside Atlas he had heard all the stories about the first transformation a Dragonborn went through and he understood how dangerous it could be for outsiders if they witnessed it. He knew to trust his old friend's judgment.

"Atlas, get my son out of here!" Lucius yelled over the screams of both his adoptive son and wife. Atlas met Lucius' eyes from where he was sat with Draco, sending him a nod of acknowledgment. Draco couldn't stay here – any minute he would transform. And then he would be a danger to both Narcissa and Lucius. Holding onto Draco tighter, Atlas closed his eyes and thought of the first safe place he could think of. Then he disapparated, Draco with him.

The wind wailed around them, smashing into their bodies when they appeared in the isolated countryside of Scotland, the sloping highlands and mountains surrounding them like looming watchmen. The summer night air was absent, a chill in the air that bit into their lungs. Atlas had always preferred the warm weather in France or Italy to the bitter weather that plagued Britain whatever the season, especially in the north.

The shocking transition in temperature did not seem to comfort Draco, the boy's screams cutting through the hills like a knife. His eyes were still ablaze, glowing in the darkness, and Atlas was certain his own eyes were now mirroring his son's, both dragons caged within rearing up, demanding to be unleashed.

"Draco, listen to me. Please, listen. Don't fight it. I know you want to, but don't." Atlas whispered into the boy's ear, his body thrashing in his blood father's arms. "Let go, Draco. Let _go_."

Upon hearing the hushed words, the boy's back arched and he let out another pain-ridden howl, but this time it turned into a roar that made the mountains shudder in terror.

Atlas leapt away, fully knowing what happened next. Draco's skin began to glow a fiery orange, embers and sparks rising from his body all around him, dancing in the wind as the smell of smoke and fire filled the cold night air. Draco's body was like a furnace, heat radiating through the area around him, scorching the grass beneath him and reducing the flowers beside him to scatterings of ash. Fire coursed through his blood and down into his chest, his heart igniting with a spark that welcomed the ancient heritage of dragon blood.

The boy's body began to morph, growing and changing in shape. Wings sprouted from his back with a wingspan twice the size of his body, a tail also unfurling and growing out. Horns emerged out of his skull, the skull itself transforming too, turning more reptilian-like with deep eye sockets and growing a long, powerful jaw with teeth capable to tear apart bone with ease. White claws grew from his fingers, hands turning into feet as Draco's body itself doubled in size. Thin spines followed the path of his spine along his back, while large scales adorned his belly, grouping together like plates of medieval armor. His neck lengthened and grew, whirling one way to the other, and when Draco finally straightened, wings spread with eyes and head pointing to the heavens, he let out an almighty roar that put even the most earth-shaking thunder to shame.

The Dragon was awake.

* * *

Fire. Draco was surrounded by fire.

It was boiling his blood and burning his mind, blocking out reality. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember where he had been last. All he knew was that something was waking up inside of him, a creature of fire and smoke - an apex predator that had survived since the dawn of time.

He tried fighting it, he really did, but it was _so_ strong. He was afraid and alone, but he didn't give in. He didn't trust it, was afraid of its power, and human instinct made him recoil from its heat. But he wasn't human, not really. A part of him knew that, but still refused to accept it. So, he kept fighting, kept blocking it and forcing it back.

But then he heard Atlas's voice, soft yet strong, telling him to let go, to give in. He was in so much pain, agony flooding his mind and body, and he felt _so_ tired. He made a choice to listen.

He let go.

The agony that spread through him afterwards was incomprehensible, a giant in comparison to the previous dwarfish pain. The dragon forced itself into his mind, but instead of staying a separate entity, it bonded and molded itself to Draco's consciousness, the boy and the dragon becoming one. Its body forced itself under Draco's skin and before he realized what was happening, his body was transforming, morphing into something else. Something _other_.

The feeling was horrid, agonizing and repulsive. It felt like something was crawling under his skin, new bones growing or changing in seconds as leather-like, scaly albino skin spread across his body. A blinding heat burned in his chest, and as his body finally stilled, he felt himself let out a roar that released his bottled-up anguish.

The beast was unleashed.

Draco's mind returned to him, his eyes finally seeing the world around him. The nightmare was over and the pain was gone, his mind clear. His long neck rolled, his head hanging down as he took in deep breaths of air. When he finally looked up again, everything seemed so loud and bright – the white moon hanging in the starry night sky, that mouse running through the undergrowth, the owl hooting high up in the trees. He could hear heartbeats, hundreds – no – thousands of them, but none of them was his. When before he could only see groups of stars on the black canvas that was the sky, now he could see billions, bright white lights that blanketed the sky like a veil of diamonds.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Draco's head swerved to the voice, expecting Atlas, but what he found was a great dragon towering beside him, much larger than he was. This dragon was as large as the trees while Draco didn't even touch their branches. Its sapphire scales seemed dimmed in the darkness, shadow cloaking the form. But then Draco realized it didn't look dark. The world around him was not dark like nighttime implied. His sight was sharper and didn't seem restricted by the lack of sunlight.

His eyes returned to the dragon, watching as it kept its gaze skyward, deliberately not looking at him. A familiar smirk curled up its lips, and when it turned to face him, Draco was struck by the familiarity in its eyes.

 _Atlas._ Draco tried to speak, but he found he couldn't. All that seemed to come out of his mouth was deep guttural sounds, the language of an animal. Atlas seemed to see the panic in his eyes when he realized he couldn't talk, lowering his head to be closer to Draco, an offer of comfort.

"Save your breath, Draco. Your vocal cords are still forming. I'm afraid you won't be able to talk for a while." Atlas advised, though his face was hard to read, the dragon features not expressing emotion in the same way a human did. The skin was tighter, the only indicator of compassion being the softness in his reptilian gaze.

Draco swallowed, exploring the feeling of the razor-sharp teeth lining his mouth and the forked-ended tongue. His throat did feel sore, but the rest of his body was no longer in pain. He moved, looking down at his feet, which now had long white claws on each toe, or finger, depending on which way you looked at it. Dragons tended to use their feet as hands.

As he shifted his weight, he felt limbs he didn't remember having move. His neck twisted back like an owl's as he looked behind him, seeing his wings and tail for the first time.

He had wings. Freaking _wings_.

They weren't feathery like a bird's, just as scaly and leathery in texture as the rest of his body. The only difference was the scales only covered where the bones were, the framework of the wings as it were, while the rest of the wing, the parts that caught the wind, was stretches of snow-white, leather-skin that was smooth and thin, like a bat's.

Curious, he tried to move them, but only succeeded in slapping himself in the face. Shocked, he stumbled forward and ended up standing on his tail and then tripping over his feet. He fell face-first to the hard ground, tumbling into an ungraceful heap. Atlas's throaty chuckle echoed throughout the hills.

"It might take a while to get used to the extra limbs. The grace comes later." Atlas remarked, still chuckling as Draco, glaring at his companion, heaved himself to his feet. The throaty chuckle Atlas's dragon form made was peculiar, a sound that was deep and beast-like, and quite frightening, if Draco was honest.

Draco managed to make a sound that was a cross between a growl and a snarl, a deep rumble that vibrated at the back of his throat. Atlas sensed his anger and frustration, eyes softening immediately.

"My apologies, Draco. I'm afraid I had forgotten what it feels like." He apologized, bowing his head so he was level with Draco's smaller form. Draco huffed, annoyed by his disability to talk.

 _Don't look so dejected, Draco. Your voice is not the only way we can communicate._

Draco's eyes widened as he heard the voice inside his mind, his head shooting up to meet Atlas's amused eyes.

 _Telepathy?_

 _In a way. Dragonborns can communicate with family members through their minds._

 _But how?_

 _Magic._

 _Very funny._

 _You remember I mentioned Dragonborns form strong magical bonds with family?_

 _Yes._

 _Mind speech is an ability due to these bonds. You can communicate like this with any other Dragonborn or family members. Friends too, if the bond is strong enough._

 _Why are you bigger than me?_ Draco asked, looking up at Atlas. From appearance, they seemed to be the same breed of Dragon: four legs, two wings, slim tail that had no distinctive tip, straight ivory horns at the back of the skull that curved slightly at the end, and the same elegant, almost ancient bone structure when it came to the skull. What that breed of Dragon was, Draco had no idea. It was nothing he had ever seen before.

 _I'm older. Your dragon form slowly grows as you increase with age. Now, are you ready?_

 _For what?_

 _To fly, what else? Those wings are no decoration. It is time you learnt how to use them._

Draco gaped as Atlas unfolded his wings, spreading them out to their full wingspan, which stretched to either side of the clearing, blocking out the moonlight. He began to beat his gigantic wings, the power and sheer strength of them beginning to lift him off the ground. The tall grass growing on the ground was flung back, the wind Atlas created blowing everything within the area across the solid earth. Draco knew that if he had been human, he would have been blown back because of the force, or at the very least stumbled.

Draco grinned at the sight of Atlas hovering in the air, his wings beating in a steady rhythm. Hesitantly, Draco began to beat his own wings, each wing out of sync at first, before he finally managed to beat them in time. Soon he was putting greater strength into each beat of his wings, strength he had not realized he possessed, his feet slowly lifting off the ground. A few times he fell and lost his rhythm, but Atlas prompted him to try again, to focus. Then, after several minutes of practice, he was airborne, not hovering as fluidly or gracefully as Atlas, but still flying.

Flying. Draco let out a laugh of happiness, his eyes fixed on his wings beating at his sides. He turned his gaze back to Atlas, who offered a proud smile in return. It felt natural, flying. Ever since he was young, he loved to fly on his broom, feel the wind flying past his face. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this.

 _What's next?_

A beastly chuckled answered him.

 _I'm glad you asked, Draco. What do you think about a friendly race?_

Atlas turned with a challenging grin on his face, beating his wings as he began to rise high into the sky. Draco likewise grinned, wide and true, before following with similar speed, beating his wings with increased frequency. Atlas wanted a race? Draco would give him a race.

Beating his wings faster, Draco tried to gain momentum as he rose into the sky, leaving the trees and ground behind him. Atlas flew in front of him, his wings powerful as they propelled him skyward, confident in his dragon skin. His form was older, thick muscle lining his giant bones that ensured more fluid and controlled movement, refined by years of experience. However, Draco had no such luxury, his dragon form just as young as his human body, with that thin, awkward body shape that came with young males as their body grew throughout their teenage years. His movements were clumsier, not quite sure what he was doing, relying on instinct alone.

But Draco didn't care. What he was feeling now, the rush of adrenaline as he looked down to see the ground far below, trees the size of ants, was a feeling he never wanted to lose. He loved to feel the wind on his face while he flew on a broom, the force of the air blowing his hair into his eyes, but this was different altogether. A foreign object wasn't doing the flying for him – he was flying, flying higher than he had ever flown before. High altitude had always restricted how high he could fly without passing out due to lack of air, but his dragon form did not have that problem.

Laughing, Draco let out a roar of excitement, the clouds rapidly approaching him. Atlas grinned beside him, watching as Draco crashed through the cloud layer, and into the sky above.

Stunned by the scene before him, Draco hovered in one place, eyes wide. Above him, millions upon millions of white stars littered the night sky like diamonds on perfect midnight velvet. The moon was a magnificent white beacon among the soft outline of the clouds that surrounded him on all sides, pearl white bundles of cloud that rolled like the waves of the sea. There was only silence, peaceful, like a whole other world. It was beautiful.

 _Woah…_ Draco thought, eyes taking in the sight with amazed delight. _Atlas, have you seen..._ Draco trailed off as he realized Atlas was no longer beside him. _Atlas?_ Draco turned, not seeing the larger dragon anywhere. He was alone. Where in Merlin's name had he gone?

Suddenly, Draco beat his wings in panic to avoid the huge mass that emerged from beneath the clouds, Atlas breaking the cloud layer in a flying spin, wings tucked in at his sides. The cloud mist was flung into the cold air, the beastly chuckle of Atlas's voice echoing through the sky. He spread his wings, immediately catching the wind beneath them, diving a little so he could glide above the clouds.

"Don't hover, Draco! This is supposed to be a race!" He roared over his shoulder, before flying through a larger cloud, tucking his wings against his body yet again to allow his body to spin. The cloud dispersed, the misty vapor flying in several directions.

 _Show off!_ Draco shouted mentally, body leaping into action as he dived and spread his wings to let the air carry him, just like Atlas had done. The only response he received was deep, roaring laughter.

Soon, Draco was laughing too, flying through and in between the clouds, chasing after Atlas under the watchful gaze of the glowing moon. He learned quickly, even attempting to spin like Atlas had done, though that nearly resulted in him losing his bearings entirely.

 _Ready, Draco?_ Atlas asked as they flew side by side yet again.

 _For what?_ Draco asked back, laughing a little as he barely missed a huge cloud mass. He'd quickly learnt the stuff was almost ice cold, like snow, and it tickled his scaly skin whenever he touched it.

Atlas didn't answer straight away, eyes set ahead where an opening in the cloud layer appeared. When they reached it, Atlas instantly changed course.

"Dive!" Atlas yelled over the wind, tucking his wings against his body as far as they could go before he angled his body downwards, moving into a dive. Draco, after recovering from his shock, copied him, wings folding as he dived down, below the clouds.

The wind howled as it raced past his ears, the distant image of the ground below coming into focus. He followed his instincts, keeping his wings tucked away to allow his body to become streamlined, accelerating to speeds faster than any he could achieve on a broom. Draco quickly gained on Atlas, appearing at his side with a silly grin on his face as they plummeted to the land below.

 _When do we pull up?_

 _On my mark, Draco._ Atlas answered, keeping his eyes on the ground below. A mountain was directly below them, and they dived parallel to its edge, following the steep, almost vertical, drop to the forest below. The trees were no longer ants now, getting closer and closer by the second, banked by sloping hills and rocky terrain.

 _Now?_ Draco asked, mental voice becoming uncertain as they still plummeted to the earth.

 _No._

 _ATLAS!_ Draco screamed in fear, the trees too close for comfort. If they didn't pull up, they'd crash to the ground and break every bone in their bodies. Or die, which was more likely, considering the speed they plummeting to the earth at.

 _NOW!_ As Atlas roared out the order, he spread his huge wings, just as Draco copied his movements. Their wing and shoulder muscles screamed as the air force thrust them skywards, slowing their descent. Draco copied Atlas when he curved his body away from the ground, instead of flying level. Draco grinned as he was suddenly gliding over the forest canopy, wind suddenly rushing past them at alarming speeds. Atlas sent him a matching smile that filled his whole face, teeth shining in the moonlight and Draco laughed with both relief and adrenaline.

Eventually, the momentum ran out, leaving them no choice to return to flying normally, beating their wings every few minutes to keep airborne, using the air currents to carry them in the calm night sky. Draco had had his doubts before about his first transformation, afraid of becoming a monster. But he didn't feel any different. He was still…him. He was still Draco. The dragon had settled inside his mind, offering strong primal instincts and supernatural intuition, but he could ignore it, if he chose to. It was like something was whispering inside his ear, but it wasn't loud or demanding. It was comforting – a power that radiated safety rather than danger. If anything, everything felt…natural. Like coming home.


	7. The Road To Acceptance

**AN:Thought I'd post another chapter since, hey, its ready and also, as an apology for like starting this story and like not coming back to it until recently. Lot of words this one - over 7,000. It also follows directly on from the last chapter, another reason why I'm posting it now - the two are kind of a pair. Plus, I love posting stuff. As always, thanks for the reviews, favorites and follows.**

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 _Never forget who you are. - The Lion King_

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CHAPTER 7:

The Road To Acceptance

It was almost dawn when they returned to Malfoy Manor. Atlas was adamant that they fly the whole way back, the reasoning behind it being a Dragonborn's first flight was crucial and Draco needed to become comfortable in his own form. Draco had mixed emotions about this plan of action.

Firstly, there was the fact that he currently looked like a Dragon. While a part of his mind was still whirling over this new development, flying above England as a Dragon was not exactly advisable. 1) There was the muggles to worry about if they were seen and 2) there were the wizards to worry about if they were spotted. Then, before you know it, Dragon catchers are called in and they end up in chains.

When Draco pointed this out, Atlas remained unconcerned. He claimed that as long as they stayed above the clouds and at a high enough altitude, from the ground below they would just look like what the muggles called an 'airplane'. Draco had no idea what an 'airplane' was and frankly, didn't want to know, especially when Atlas warned him to keep an eye out for them. Apparently, if they hit one of them they'd probably break a wing, not to mention the muggle casualties.

Much to Draco's relief, they never encountered any of the muggle metal death traps that flew in the sky (no matter how much Atlas claimed the planes were harmless otherwise, Draco begged to differ). Perhaps it was the route Atlas chose, or the muggles were simply not flying that night. Draco didn't exactly care.

Secondly, there was the fact he had to fly all the way home. Like, seriously? It took hours and he was tired. Not to mention, although he appeared to know what he was doing, he actually had no clue. He was literally running on instinct alone. What if he ended up crashing? What if he broke something, like his wings?

He had to hand it to Atlas though - the view was spectacular. Miles of stars, sky and cloud hanging over miles more of rolling hills and cities, the city lights shining brightly in the darkness. If he concentrated hard enough, he found his eyes could focus on things far below him, even if they were thousands of feet in the air. And if he focused on the sky above him, the clouds would fade away, revealing a view that would normally only be viewed from space – thousands of constellations and galaxies bursting with colour and light.

Of course, the peaceful silence and beauty of their journey had its downfalls. Draco was left to his own thoughts, which in his current state of mind, was dangerous. Before he realised it, he was panicking about how his parents would react to his dragon form. Would they run? What happened if his mother screamed at the sight of him? What would his father say? Had they meant everything they had said, or would they change their minds when they saw him?

Draco felt sick thinking about it.

The feeling only worsened as Draco flew over the acres of land owned by his family, passing over the outlying muggle towns, forest and farmland. They first glimpsed Malfoy Manor as the sun was starting to peak above the horizon, the sunrise streaking half the sky, a landscape of warm orange and misty blue pastels that looked at the point of melting, exploding out from behind the Manor's dark silhouette. The trees parted to reveal the hedged front gardens, divided by the gated gravel drive. Draco followed Atlas, allowing the wind to carry his wings as they circled around the Manor, slowly descending from the sky.

They landed on the lawn behind the grand mansion, Draco stumbling forward, falling flat on his face as he landed, or rather crashed, for the first time. Atlas had no such problems, beating his wings rhythmically as he descended, dropping the last few feet to the ground and making the earth shake under the force. The white peacocks that strolled the grounds scattered, screeching as they flapped their feathered wings in panic, flying further up the lawn and away from the two dragons.

Atlas eyed the birds with annoyance and distaste, before turning around to face the back of the Manor. The windows were still dark, the lower half of the mighty building still cast in shadow from the low angle of the morning sun's rays. Various balconies lined the rear of the building, leading from numerous guest rooms, suites and lounge rooms. The grandest of them all, ivy and blooming flowers clinging to the stone pillars of the balcony railing, backed a suite on the fourth floor – the suite belonging to the Lord and Lady of the Manor. Like the rest of the building, the windows were dark. Atlas narrowed his reptile eyes.

Meanwhile, Draco spat out the dirt that had entered his mouth upon his ungraceful landing, rising to his feet as he pushed himself off the floor. He groaned, scowling in retaliation to his current feeling of embarrassment. Draco stretched his wings one last time before folding them at his sides, the motion natural. Surveying the area, he saw the lake he usually swam in during the summer in the distance, his mother's gardens to their far right and the trees that lined the lawn they currently stood upon. A lawn, which Draco noticed, was ruined due to their large footprints – particularly those belonging to Atlas. The blades of grass were crushed, dirt and soil even overturned in places. The worst was where he had landed, his whole body making a mess of the lawn.

 _Father's going to kill us_ Draco couldn't help but think.

He turned around, looking at Atlas who seemed to sense Draco was watching him. The larger Dragon turned his head, facing Draco once more.

 _You alright?_ Atlas asked through their connection. Draco glared at him.

 _Never better._

 _It was your first flight, Draco. You're not going to be sensational at flying on your first go, or skilled at landing either._ Atlas reassured, before looking back at the Manor.

Draco frowned a little at Atlas' lack of concern for his welfare. Then he noticed Atlas had that look in his eyes that meant he was planning something, making Draco frown harder.

 _What's that face for?_

Atlas smirked.

 _Let's wake your parents up, shall we?_

Draco's eyes widened as Atlas stretched his wings to their full length, drawing his head back before he released an almighty roar. The sheer magnitude of the sound shook the grounds and manor, resonating far and wide, causing birds that had been previously perching in the trees to take flight in frantic fear. When the roar finally faded away, Atlas lowered his wings and folded them at his sides.

 _ARE YOU MAD!_ Draco yelled through the mental connection, bounding up into Atlas' sightline. The larger dragon looked down at him in amusement as a gleeful grin spread across his face.

 _Possibly._ Atlas returned his gaze to the Manor, making Draco follow his line of sight. A light had switched on within one of the rooms. _But it might just be worth it._ Atlas added, smirk positively devilish.

As if on cue, the balcony doors were thrown open by a livid Lucius Malfoy, clothed only in a silk robe. His expression, even though partially hidden by the early morning darkness, was furious as he marched up to the stone railing, leaning over as he glared down below, eyes immediately fixing on Atlas' dragon form. To Draco's surprise, his father had no trouble recognising Atlas, even if he was currently a dragon the size of a small building.

"AMBROSIUS! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING ON MY LAWN!"

Atlas grinned up at the wizard, his smile showing way too many pointed teeth.

"And a jolly good morning to you too, Lucius." He merrily shouted back up to him. Lucius, in comparison, was positively fuming. Draco had never seen his father's face so red.

"GET OFF MY LAWN, AMBROSIUS! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO IT! IT'S RUINED!"

"It's just some grass, Lucius."

"YOU ARE DESTROYING MY PROPERTY!" He screamed down it them, jabbing an accusing finger at Atlas.

"Technically, your son is destroying your property. He's the one that crashed into it." Atlas pointed out, making Lucius instantly pause. The wizard's eyes drifted to the smaller white dragon – to Draco. His eyes widened, mouth slightly hanging open. Draco felt himself swallow.

At that exact moment, another figure dashed out onto the balcony, still in the process of tying the knot of her dressing gown.

"Lucius, why are you shouting? Is it Atlas? Have they returned? Is it…." His Mother asked in rapid succession, anxiety lining the curves of her body. She froze at the sight of the two dragons currently stood on the lawn, giant footprints imprinted in the soil. She tucked her long, golden hair over her shoulder, hand shaking as she stepped closer to the barrier.

"Draco…" She gasped, eyes widening at the sight of her son's form.

Draco fought the urge to bow his head and avoid his mother's eyes. He hated this, the way they were looking at him. But most of all, he hated the anticipation of their rejection. Any minute now, he knew his father would regain his wits, sneer and demand he get off his property.

 _You're their son Draco. You should have more faith in your parents._ Atlas pointed out, his voice echoing inside Draco's mind. Draco turned to him, noticing the reassuring expression on the older Dragon's face, serious yet compassionate.

Draco looked back up at the balcony, just in time to see his mother run into the Manor. He blinked, his nerves only increasing with his mother's hurried exit. Was he that monstrous that she couldn't stand the sight of him?

Lucius seemed to be struggling at finding words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shock controlling the muscles in his face. Then he turned, as if to leave as well, but Atlas addressed him before he could.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Atlas yelled up at him, making the wizard halt, half-turned to exit the balcony. "Grab two extra cloaks on your way down, would you? We'll be needing them."

"I'm not your bloody house elf, Ambrosius."

"Well then tell the house elves to bring them. I doubt they'll stay around long enough to listen to me in this form, do you?" Atlas reasoned, his tone almost mocking in nature, as if questioning how Lucius had failed to deduce the same thing. Lucius sneered, giving no indication he was going to carry out Atlas' request. He left the balcony, his personality completely back to normal, leaving no suggestion he had stood frozen in disbelief moments before.

As they waited, Draco felt his anxiety spike, the sensation making him sick to the stomach. There were tales of purebloods who dishonoured their family, or pureblood children who had turned out to be squibs. All of them had been disowned, cast out, often meeting a horrible fate. What if he ended up the same? He was a freaking dragon. That was the furthest thing away from being a pureblood.

 _Atlas, I don't think I can do this._ He stated uncertainly, trying his best not to hyperventilate as he backed away. He was not going to have another panic attack. There was no way he would shame himself in such a way again.

Atlas turned towards him, instantly sensing his fear and anxiety, and making his best effort to comfort him. _Draco, you'll be fine. If Lucius Malfoy takes his time to sneer at me, he isn't affected by what he just saw. Now, if he chose to be nice to me, then I'd suggest you should worry._

 _That's your motivational speech? If my father still insults people, it can't be that bad?_ He asked incredulously.

 _You just called him your father, so yes, I would conclude the situation isn't that bad, as you so eloquently put it._

Draco glared at him.

 _What about my Mother? She rushed away pretty quickly._

 _In order to see you sooner. We can hardly have a proper conversation while they're all the way up there, now can we?_

… _.I suppose not… Why do you need the extra cloaks?_

 _All in good time._

 _Atlas-_

"Draco!" His mother called, emerging from the grand doors on the ground floor. She was still in her dressing gown but now her hair was tied up in a messy, hastily made bun, her wand clutched loosely between her fingers. Two house elves accompanied her carrying the cloaks Atlas requested, and behind them was Lucius, who was much more composed than his clearly emotional and frantic wife, his cane tapping against the ground as he walked.

His mother rushed down the steps, carrying her skirts as to avoid tripping over. Draco stood frozen, unconsciously leaning towards Atlas for support and comfort. Sending him a reassuring smile, Atlas gently nudged Draco smaller form, encouraging him to meet his mother halfway as she approached them across he grass. Draco did so, if not hesitantly, slowly walking forward, coming to stand in front of his mother as she finally stopped meters before him. There was a moment of silence as they simply stared at one another, Draco's form as large as one of their Arabian winged horses, for once looking down at his mother and not the other way round.

After a few moments, no sound except the light breeze of the early morning, his mother began to walk towards him, expression fearless. When she was close enough to touch him, she raised her hand, hesitant, almost unsure if he would allow it. Draco felt himself swallow, the fear and anxiety still lining his gut, but forced himself to move his head forward, closer to her hand – an unspoken sign of acceptance. She placed a tentative hand on his snout as smoke lazily drifted from his nostrils, her eyes alive with awe.

 _Oh, my beautiful, beautiful boy._ Her voice echoed inside his mind, the Dragon inside him recognising her as its mother, opening the bond so they could communicate. There were tears of joy gathering in her eyes as she stroked his snout.

Draco felt his heart clench, relief flooding his body. Now the bond was open, active, he could feel her emotions, hear her thoughts. She felt no fear, no disgust, only love for _him_. For her _son_. Although he had listened to her before, a small part of him had never believed she could accept him completely, that there would be a part of her that cowered away from him. How he was wrong. How could he have ever doubted her?

Draco leaned into her touch, pushing his snout against her hand. She laughed, a tearful, relieved sound, and responded by pulling his head forward and wrapping her arms around his large neck, hugging him tightly. Draco returned the gesture, curling his neck over her shoulder and pressing his head against her back, closing his eyes as emotion overwhelmed him.

* * *

Lucius followed his wife down the stone steps, making his way onto the perfectly cut lawn. While Narcissa rushed ahead of him upon seeing Draco, Lucius made sure to keep a slow pace, not just to maintain appearances but to calm himself, and to regain his composure. The sight of the dragon before him had that effect.

His son's scales were a beautiful pure snow-white, similar ivory horns backing his skull. His wings were folded at his sides, his long slim tail curled around his body with his head raised high, hot air blowing out his slit nostrils with each release of breath. The raised ridges of the scale plates that covered his underbelly and neck reminded Lucius of medieval armour, a shining white that glinted in the early morning light. And then there were the eyes. Reptilian, yet somehow powerfully human, the colour of ice blue. If Draco was truly a beast, he was the most majestic of them all.

But his son was no beast. No, of that, Lucius was certain. Over the years, Lucius' views on pureblood supremacy had never changed. They were more superior to halfbloods and mudbloods, more powerful than any filthy muggle. But Lucius also knew that if any creature was more superior, it was the Dragonborns. Wizards were the true, rightful inhabitants of this world - but the Dragonborns? They were the _Kings_.

Although he would never admit it, Lucius was nervous. His gaze was averted when he noticed Atlas, which was almost as shocking as seeing Draco's form. For all the years that had passed, Atlas hadn't changed.

 _Lucius watched the hands of the clock tick impatiently, itching for it to move quicker. Professor Binns droned on and on, making many students yawn with boredom or stare into space, finding more excitement alone with their thoughts. Next to him, Lestrange had his head rested on his propped up arm, nodding off every few minutes and consequently banging his head on the desk, jolting him awake. Binns hadn't yet noticed._

 _The hot summer's day had led to everyone discarding their black robes and jumpers, the students now only wearing white blouses and shirts. A few of the boys, including Lucius, had loosened their ties in an effort to cool down but the goal seemed hopeless. As if they didn't have enough to suffer when listening to Binns yap on for an hour._

 _Looking to his right, Lucius caught the eye of Atlas, who sat on a desk across from him. The young Ambrosius sent him a grin, nodding his head to the classroom door. Lucius frowned, not understanding his meaning, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'what the hell does that mean?'. Atlas rolled his eyes, before grabbing his quill and quickly scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Then, careful to make sure Binns never caught him in the act, Atlas folded it into an origami bird, before blowing it into the air, letting his magic enchant it to fly over to Lucius._

 _After catching it, Lucius opened it up to reveal the elegant and cursive, although rushed, handwriting of Atlas._

 _ **Want to skip Runes after this? I fancy taking advantage of the weather. Perfect day for flying, wouldn't you say?**_

 _Lucius grinned, understanding the hidden meaning. Looking up, he sent Atlas a nod, before shoving the piece of parchment in his pocket and turning his attention back to Binns. Not that he listened to a thing the Professor said. Somehow, the clock was going even slower than before, and by the time the period came to an end, Lucius was practically boiling over with anticipation. As soon as Binns started talking about the assignment due in next lesson, Lucius jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and joining Atlas as they dashed out of the class._

 _They left the castle at a full sprint, racing onto the grounds in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Lucius pushed Atlas to the side, laughing as the other fifteen year old stumbled and nearly fell over, using it to race ahead of him._

 _They dropped their bags, flinging them behind some shrubs before racing into the forest, Atlas now far ahead. The laughed as they ducked under branches and jumped over fallen logs, the sun's bright rays cascading down in beams to the forest floor. Finally, they came to a clearing, allowing Lucius to stop and lean on his knees as he gasped for breath. As usual, Atlas hadn't even broken a sweat._

" _You alright there, Luci? Do you need some time maybe to recover?"_

" _Fuck you, Atlas. Not all of us are inhuman." Lucius snapped, lunging to punch him in the shoulder. Atlas dodged, laughing loudly._

" _No, only the best of us."_

" _Are you going to transform or not?"_

" _Alright! Alright! Turn around. I'm not ripping another set of my uniform. My Mother will have a fit."_

 _Lucius did as he was told, listening to Atlas rant on about his Mother's incessant involvement with his school life as the boy undressed. He rolled his eyes more than once, offering snide comments in response to Atlas' dramatic monologue. It was only when Atlas finished, the smell of smoke filling the air, when Lucius finally turned around._

 _Before him now stood not a boy, but a great dragon that looked both terrifying and majestic in the shining sunlight. Glowing embers still danced across his scales as the transformation finished, melting with the shades of dark sapphire blue and blacks of his reptile skin. And staring back at him were eyes of the richest yellow, unreadable in their inhuman state yet unnervingly intelligent._

" _Get on then, Lucius. I haven't got all day." Atlas growled impatiently. Lucius grinned, approaching the great dragon and attempting to climb up onto his back. Atlas helped him where he could, lowering his body and bending his neck, giving Lucius the means to grab the dark ivory horns that backed Atlas' skull and use them to hoist himself up._

" _You know, wizards have captured dragons for centuries, but I'm probably the only wizard that has actually rode one. Imagine the look on everyone's faces if I rode you to one of those Ministry functions my Father always attends." Lucius joked, settling himself at the base of Atlas' neck, careful to avoid the streamlined spines._

" _I am not a horse, Lucius."_

" _Course not. Giddy up!" Lucius kicked his heels into the sides of Atlas' neck, causing the dragon to bristle in barely contained outrage._

" _You do that again and I will eat you." Atlas warned, smoke billowing out his nostrils._

" _I hope my bones make you choke." Lucius countered, grinning._

 _Atlas rolled his reptilian eyes. "You're insufferable."_

" _Then why did you invite me?"_

" _Obviously the heatwave has induced some kind of insanity."_

" _Obviously."_

" _Shame that, really."_

" _I think I preferred it when dragons didn't talk." Lucius muttered._

 _Atlas laughed, stretching his wings to their full span, preparing to take off. "Ready, Malfoy?"_

" _Are you?" Lucius shot back._

" _You know me, Luci." Atlas laughed as he turned his head to look Lucius in the eye. "Me, ready? Always." Atlas answered with a wide grin. Then he leapt into the sky and Lucius released a yell of excitement as Atlas roared._

Lucius swallowed, clenching his jaw. On the balcony, he hadn't faulted in his step, easily slipping into the old familiarity of bickering with Atlas, whatever form the Dragonborn currently sported. But now the larger dragon was looking straight at him, neck extended to its full height and head held high, scales an oak brown and burnt gold, more magnificent and majestic than even Draco. He had forgotten how it felt to be burned by that reptilian gaze.

Lucius continued forward, coming to stop next to Atlas' legs just as Narcissa enveloped Draco in a tight embrace.

"I see he transformed." Lucius commented to break the awkward silence. Atlas barely acknowledged him.

"He had his first flight a few hours ago. We went to the Scotland Highlands, close to where we used to fly." Atlas explained, features expressionless. Lucius turned his gaze back to Draco, looking at the Dragonborn boy he had come to call his son.

"He's magnificent." Lucius stated after a long pause, his eyes never leaving Draco's form. Atlas followed his gaze, a small smile turning up the corners of his scaly lips.

"Yes, he is. Draco is a white Ambrosius dragon, which bodes well for the future. White dragons are seen as good omens, and are the forms of the purest of hearts. They are symbols of hope."

"I would have thought it was the Malfoy traits seeping through."

"His hair colour is the same as his mother's, something that will become evident once that charm wears off as he gets older. There are no Malfoy traits to seep through, remember?" Atlas snidely commented.

Lucius sent Atlas a glare for the jab at his lack of blood relation to Draco, debating whether to hit the dragon's leg with his cane. Lucius eyed Atlas' deadly canines. It probably wasn't worth the risk.

Lucius cleared his throat, making both Narcissa and Draco jolt in surprise. Narcissa slowly moved away from his son, releasing him from her embrace, allowing Draco to raise his head once more. Lucius kept his gaze fixed entirely on him, never wavering for second. Draco swallowed, unnerved by the emotionless nature of his steel gaze.

With agonising slowness, Lucius began to walk towards him, cool and composed as his black cane tapped against the ground with each new step. He came to a stop a foot away from Draco and looked down at the cane still held in his arms. Although anyone who knew him was aware the cane concealed his wand, only those closest to him knew that he needed the cane to help him walk. Without it, he was weaker. And that was exactly why he crouched down and placed it on the floor.

Atlas raised the dragon equivalent of an eyebrow while Draco's eyes widened. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw his wife smile.

 _If you want your son back Lucius, you have to earn him. Earn his trust, not demand it. Why do you think he warmed to Atlas so quickly?_

Rising slowly, Lucius held his gaze with Draco. Then he took a step forward, ignoring the faint pain in his weaker leg. Like his wife before him, he raised his hand, reaching out towards Draco's snout. The young dragon recoiled, stepping backwards. Lucius froze, seeing the shock, and dare he say it, fear in those reptile eyes.

Lucius heard a low growl, more like a reptilian purr, from over his shoulder coming from Atlas' direction. He recognised that sound, remembered it from the rare occurrence when he had witnessed Atlas communicating with other Dragonborns in this form.

Whatever he said seemed to make a difference, as Draco inched forward, albeit anxiously, and lowered his head once more. Lucius stayed still for a few more moments, afraid Draco would bolt like a startled deer despite Atlas' clear encouragement, but the young dragon didn't move. So Lucius raised his hand and finally placed it upon his adoptive son's scaly skin.

It had been years, over a decade even, since he had touched Atlas' Dragon form. Felt the power under the surface, sensed the magic flowing through the body. Feeling that again, it was overwhelming but feeling it within his son? His heir? The wizarding world were so ignorant, so naïve. They knew nothing.

This was magic. Wild, untamed, ancient magic. And it was beautiful.

Lucius took a calming breath, eyes still fixated on the place where his skin was touching the scales. Then he looked up, right into those ice blue dragon eyes. And although they were different, the eyes of a dragon in every sense, they were still human. Still Draco.

Lucius moved his hand, tracing Draco's powerful jaw to his muscular neck where his heartbeat could be felt pounding rhythmically underneath the skin. His son leaned into his touch, even though there was anxiety lining every movement. It was time Lucius changed that. So, making sure to pull every mental and physical wall down, Lucius fixed his gaze with his son and spoke more honestly than he ever had.

"Welcome home, son."

The words were not spoken with passion or emotion. Draco doubted his father knew how to achieve such a thing. But for Draco, they were exactly the words he had hoped, but never expected, to hear. And that was enough. Enough for the dragon inside of him to recognise this wizard as a parent, to open the mental link that Dragonborns shared with all family members, no matter their species. No matter their blood.

 _Father?_

 _Draco. I'm here._

Lucius pulled Draco's head forward, resting their heads together against each other, an action Lucius had learnt from Atlas long ago. Behind them, Narcissa smiled through tears of joy, leaping forward to embrace both of her boys – the man she had married and the son she had raised. What happened next was something that perhaps had never happened in the Malfoy household - the whole family embraced _together_.

* * *

A few steps away, a fond smile curled around the corner of Atlas' mouth. He waited until the Malfoys had finally separated before speaking once more. "Now the introductions are over, I think we should go inside, Draco."

The young dragonborn raised his head, frowning up at Atlas. A low rumble released from his throat.

 _How can I go inside like this?_

 _You transform back. Did you really think you'd stay like that forever?_

 _No._

 _Then, there you go._

"Although I have no problem with two dragons growling at each other, it would be helpful if you included the rest of us in this conversation." Lucius drawled, glaring at the two dragons. Draco seemed to look reprimanded, while Atlas only glared back, smoke drifting in a threatening way from his nostrils.

"Draco's vocal cords are still forming, Lucius. For the first few weeks, he won't be able to speak in his dragon form. I'm sorry it's such an inconvenience for you." Atlas drawled.

"Then open the mental link." Lucius ground out through clenched teeth.

"And have you inside my head? No thanks. Not even a scorgify could clean my brain after you've been inside it."

Lucius scowled. Atlas grinned. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"Boys, don't start. Don't ruin today. Please." Narcissa reasoned, eyes darting between the dragon and wizard.

"I've no intention to." Atlas declared, never breaking eye contact with Lucius.

"Neither do I." Lucius snarled. They continued to glare at each other for several more moments, neither backing down, until Atlas broke away his gaze, carrying on as if nothing had happened.

"Draco has to transform back. The first transformation, the first one that goes full circle, is crucial. You need to learn quickly, Draco." Atlas stated, addressing Draco this time.

 _And if I can't turn back?_ Draco asked through the mental link.

Atlas didn't answer.

 _Atlas?_

"There's a chance – although minute - you don't transform back at all. Ever."

 _WHAT?_

"WHAT?" Lucius exclaimed, outraged.

"Malfoy, shut it. I'm busy."

" _Ambrosius_ -"

"Ah, ah!" Atlas interrupted, lifting one menacing dragon claw that was the size of Lucius' head and pointing it at the man. His glare shut Lucius up. Then he turned back to Draco. "Draco, listen. Transforming isn't hard."

 _Easy for you to say! You've been doing this for years!_

"It gets easier every time you do it, yes, but it is instinctual from the very beginning, even for you."

 _Does it hurt?_

Atlas' eyes turned soft and a small, reassuring smile emerged on the dragon's face. "Not this time. Never again. You have to transform back, Draco."

 _I know, I know…but how?_

"I'll talk you through it. Even transform first so you can follow my lead."

 _Alright. I can do this._ Atlas chuckled as Draco nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

"Draco, there's nothing to worry about."

 _Really? You're sure?_

"Positive." Atlas reassured, smiling gently. Draco frowned, confusion flowing over his dragon features as his eyes settled on the black coats still held by the house elves.

 _So… why do you need the cloaks?_

The smile vanished from Atlas' face.

"Ah…that"

 _Well?_

"What is it? Ambrosius?" Lucius asked, only hearing half of the conversation. Through clenched teeth, Atlas explained, seemingly well aware of the reaction he would get from Lucius.

"Your son just asked why we need the cloaks." There was a silence as Lucius took in the information and its implications before he guffawed, breaking out in uproarious laughter.

"Good luck explaining that."

"Lucius!" Narcissa reprimanded, batting his arm.

 _Well, is anybody going to answer?_ Draco asked telepathically, clearly annoyed about being the only one confused, eyes darting between the three adults. Atlas licked his scaly lips, pausing as he gathered his thoughts.

"Draco, how do you think shapeshifting works?"

 _Magic transforms the original form into the new one, using all elements._ Draco answered slowly, unsure how the question was related.

"Even the clothes?" Atlas prompted, raising an eyebrow. Draco froze, realisation dawning.

 _You have got to be messing with me._

"I'm afraid not."

 _Are you saying the moment I transform back I'm going to be naked?!_

"Technically, you're naked right now." Atlas pointed out. Draco let out an inhuman cry, instantly looking down at his bare, scaly body. He instantly unfolded his wings, spreading them so they hid his body from view. Atlas rolled his eyes.

 _This has got to be a mistake. When you transformed back before, in the forbidden forest, you had clothes on!_

"I was wearing especially designed Dragonborn robes - they transform with you. However, for this transformation we were both wearing our nightclothes. I suspect they burned in the fire of the shift."

 _I'm not transforming back if I'm going to be naked!_

"Draco, you only have to do it for this transformation. By next time I'm sure the robes I ordered for you will have arrived. Don't be so childish."

 _I DON'T HAVE ANY CLOTHES ON!_ Draco roared, smoke drifting from his nostrils. It was still too early for him to breathe fire, but Atlas knew that if he could have, Draco would have obliterated Atlas to ashes ages ago. Draco's complete overreaction (in Atlas' eyes at least) made the senior dragon snap, annoyance and frustration releasing in a fiery tempest.

"O, for Salazaar's sake!" Atlas growled and suddenly his scales were alight with sparks of fire, smoke flowing out of his nostrils and off his skin only to engulf the air around him. Seconds later, his body was transforming, morphing as it grew smaller, the wings and tail disappearing, scales dissolving. The last thing to change were his eyes, which still glowed in the dim light even once Atlas was in his human form once more. A very naked, muscular human form.

"I don't have any clothes on either but do you see me complaining! It isn't hard, Draco!" He snapped. However, the other three occupants of the lawn were not paying attention to what he was saying, eyes so wide they looked like the Malfoy owls.

 _Atlas, you're naked!_ Draco exclaimed first.

"Yes I am. I'm a Dragonborn, not a human. The culture is different, Draco. It doesn't matter. It certainly doesn't matter to your parents, I'm sure they've seen everything when you were younger!"

"ATLAS!" Narcissa exclaimed,

"What? It's _true_."

"We don't care what's true. Just put some clothes on, would you?" Lucius ground out. Atlas seemed to finally notice the discomfort of the other man, but instead of listen to him and grab one of the cloaks, Atlas' lips curled into a devilish smirk.

"Why, is it bothering you, Lucius?" Atlas taunted, folding his arms across his bare chest.

"This is not proper behaviour in front of a woman." Lucius snarled furiously.

"Lucius, Narcissa isn't a virgin. I think she's seen this before." Altas gestured downwards, making Lucius' face turn crimson with rage. He moved to step forward, but Narcissa grabbed his arm, her eyes looking anywhere but at Atlas. Draco wasn't faring much better.

 _I'm going to throw up._

"Please, don't dear. Atlas – cloak. _Now_." Narcissa ordered, sending Atlas a glare as she obviously avoided Atlas' _lower_ areas. Her tone was unquestionable.

Atlas mumbled something incomprehensible, before striding over to one of the house elves and grabbing a cloak form their hands. He slung it around his shoulders, grabbing the edges of the cloak and pulling it together to hide his body from view.

"Satisfied?" He asked Narcissa. The Lady Malfoy raised one elegant eyebrow, barely hiding a smirk of amusement. She managed to disguise it as a sneer, but she knew she wasn't fooling Atlas.

"Completely."

Hiding a smirk himself, Atlas turned to Draco, forcing his expression into one of seriousness.

"Your turn, Draco."

 _There's no way in hell I'm doing this._

"Oh so you want to go to Hogwarts looking like that? I'm sure that will go down beautifully with the other Slytherins."

Draco glared at him in response. Atlas raised an eyebrow. Draco looked away, shuffling his feet as he huffed, smoke blowing from his nostrils.

 _There's no other way?_

"None." Atlas confirmed.

"Draco, we have a cloak right here ready. It will be fine." His Mother added, taking a step forward. Draco looked at her before sighing deeply.

 _What do I have to do?_

"Well, how do you perform a spell?" Atlas prompted.

 _I perform the wand motions and say the words-_

"Wrong." Atlas interrupted. "How do you perform a spell? How do you use magic? With your head? Is it you head that determines your magical ability?"

 _No. It's your blood-_

"Wrong again." Atlas interrupted, talking over Draco, who gaped in shock. Behind him, Lucius glared at his back, but Atlas took no notice. He waited for Draco to try again, but the young dragon was clueless. "It's your soul. Search within, Draco. Use your soul, your heart - feel, not think. Listen to your instincts. Amplectere flammis."

 _Amplectere flammis?_

"Amplectere flammis. The words of House Ambrosius, just like how 'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper' are the words of House Malfoy. It means 'Embrace the flames'."

Determination seemed to flood Draco's scaly features and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Atlas smiled, continuing to speak to the young dragon in front of him.

"A Dragonborn is both man and dragon, yet neither at the same time. If you wish to shift into your human form, you have to embrace the fire in your blood. You have to reach for your magic. Imagine skin instead of scales, the body you had before. Picture who you are and accept it, not just as the dragon, but as the man. Amplectere flammis."

"Amplectere flammis." Draco echoed. His eyes opened as sparks ignited across his scales, flames rolling over his skin. Suddenly, Draco's body was changing, smoke choking the air as his body grew smaller, his wings disappeared and his scales turned into skin. His eyes were the last to change, the glowing silver dying out like a candle suddenly extinguished. Draco stumbled forward, his body bare, falling to his knees. Atlas rushed to his side, catching the cloak Narcissa threw to him before wrapping it around Draco's shoulders.

"Well done, Draco. Well done. You did it." Atlas praised, supporting Draco's weight. The boy was pale, despite the heat of the previous transformation, and his eyes were drooping closed.

"Atlas, I don't feel too good-" Draco mumbled.

"Atlas, what's wrong with him." Narcissa asked, worry flooding her features as she knelt beside her son.

"He's fine. Your fine Draco. The first transformation always drains one's magical core. Your body is exhausted, that is all. Rest. You can rest now." Atlas explained, placing his hands on either side of his face as he tried to get Draco to listen to him.

"Atlas-"

"Ssh. Rest, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, falling into unconsciousness, the exhaustion overwhelming him. Atlas wrapped the cloak more tightly round the boy in his arms, adjusting his grip as Narcissa moved forward, resting a hand on her son's burning forehead.

"Will he be alright?" She asked.

"He'll be fine, Cissa. Like I said, he's just exhausted. He'll wake again by tomorrow morning." Atlas reassured.

"That's a whole day, Atlas!"

"And I slept for two days after my first transformations. I made sure he spent as little time in his dragon as I could allow. There needed to be balance. Over the last few weeks his body has generating so much energy, so much raw, ancient magic, that if he hadn't spent a long time transformed, that energy would not have been used up and instead turn inwards, harming him. This way, he used all the magic, the fire in his body will settle, and when he's ready, he'll wake up."

"And what then?"

"Then, we've one hell of a summer ahead of us." Atlas answered seriously, but then a smirk crawled its way onto his face as he said his next words. "You may need to fire proof the Manor."

"That's not funny, Atlas." Narcissa stated sternly.

"It kind of is." Atlas replied, chuckling. Then he saw Narcissa's face and promptly shut up, clearing his throat to cover up the laughter. "I'll carry him to his suite." He declared, changing the subject.

"We can use magic. The elves can handle it." Lucius stated, moving as if to stop Atlas. The Dragonborn frowned up at him from his position knelt on the grass.

"It's fine. Dragonborns are social creatures, Lucius. We live off the bonds we make with others, and the bonds we already have with family. The more time I spend with him, the quicker he'll recover." Atlas put an arm underneath Draco's knees, and another under his back before hoisting the boy into his arms, standing up. As the sun rose, Atlas carried him into Malfoy Manor, Lucius and Narcissa trailing behind him.


	8. Anchor

**AN: Another chapter, slightly less words this time. This is because its kind of paired with chapter 9. Enjoy.**

* * *

CHAPTER 8:

Anchor

As the antique clock's hands struck 8 o'clock, the alarm sounded, a loud chime filling the bedroom, deafening the only inhabitant. A sluggish hand shot out from beneath the bed covers, grasping blindly for the clock, slapping the bedside table in an attempt to grab the offending item. The echoing chimes continued as the hand missed the target, growing louder by the second.

Growling, Draco pulled the covers away from his head, finally spotting the clock. He grabbed it instantly, slamming his fist on top of it to turn it off. The clock smashed under the supernatural force, Draco still too half asleep to notice the damage he had caused. Instead, he pulled the covers over his head, intending to sleep for at least another hour.

When he finally gathered enough willpower to get up, Draco dragged himself out of bed, hair stood up at odd angles in every direction imaginable and eyes blinking sleepily. Achingly slow, Draco made his way to the bathroom, palming the door open as he rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his wizarding toothpaste and toothbrush, standing in front of the mirror that hung over the sink. The colourful design of the toothpaste tube moved magically, the sparkling slogan 'So Clean, It's Magic!' making Draco's eyes hurt so early in the morning. Grumbling, Draco squeezed the tube, intending for the toothpaste to flow onto his toothbrush. However, to Draco's confusion, the whole tube squirted out, hitting the mirror.

It took a few seconds for Draco's half-asleep mind to register what had happened. Frowning at the toothpaste that was now smeared on the mirror, Draco tried to put some of it on his toothbrush. Then he reached for the tap.

Draco's mind was finally shocked into alertness as the tap was pulled off the sink due to his underestimated strength, a jet of water shooting out of the hole and into his face. Draco spluttered, staggering backwards. Panicked, Draco made a grab for some towels, making matters worse by accidentally pulling the metal towel rack off the wall, chunks of tile falling to the floor. Cursing and barely shielding himself from the jet of water that shot out of the broken tap, Draco threw the towels over the damaged area.

Draco stood for a few seconds, hands raking through his tousled hair, staring at the broken sink. Deciding to tell the house elves, he lunged for the door, only to pull the handle right off the wood when he grabbed it.

* * *

"So, what is it today? Full English?" Atlas asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he walked into the dining room, Lucius and Narcissa already sat at their seats. On a formal occasion, both Lucius and Narcissa would sit at the heads of the long table, but since it was just a normal family breakfast, Lucius sat at the head while Narcissa sat on his right side. Atlas joined them, sitting down to Lucius' left.

"Yes." Narcissa informed him, in the process of putting sugar in her tea, the clink of silverware and china mixing with her voice. Lucius had the Daily Prophet open, holding the newspaper up in front of him as he drank his own tea with one hand.

The breakfast selection of foods were already set out upon the table; silver plates full of sausages, bacon, black pudding, toast and eggs. It was more of a buffet than a selection of meals, essentially way too much food for just four people.

"Anything interesting in the Daily Prophet, Malfoy?" Atlas asked as he grabbed the serviette, placing the white cloth over his trousers.

"Hardly. The current reporters are atrocious." Lucius sneered, flipping through the paper. Finding nothing of importance, he threw it onto the table, only to order the house elf nearby to hand him another one, a different publisher this time. The Malfoy family had subscriptions to all the wizarding newspapers, giving them a wide selection of choice each morning.

"My impression was they were always atrocious." Atlas stated. Lucius uttered a grunt in agreement.

Footsteps alerted the three adults to Draco's arrival, gradually getting closer to the dining room. When he entered, Atlas and Narcissa turned their heads to greet him, Lucius lowering the newspaper he was holding in front of his face.

However, their greetings died on their lips at the sight of Draco. Silence stretched throughout the room, the wide eyes of the adults fixed on the broken objects carried in Draco's arms. The boy shifted awkwardly, nervous under the heavy stares of so many eyes.

"Draco…is that…Is that part of a sink?" Narcissa finally asked.

Draco gulped.

* * *

"Shoo! Go on, get out of here!" Atlas shouted at the white peacocks, waving his arms to scare them away. The beautiful birds didn't even flinch. One even hissed at him.

"You know, I've never seen them act that way." Draco commented from behind Atlas, walking over to stand beside him.

"They don't like me. I may have accidentally transformed and tried to eat one of them once. They've never trusted me since."

"How did you try to eat one… _accidentally_?"

"I was drunk."

Draco gave him a disbelieving look. They were currently on the estate grounds of Malfoy Manor, not far from the lake, intending to practice control of the shifts. After the eventful morning, it had been decided that Draco desperately needed to learn control, and not just for when he was opening and closing doors. The enhanced abilities that were now part of his human form would take getting used to, but the true measure of control concerned his control over his emotions, instincts and most importantly, the transformations. The rest, according to Atlas, would come with time and experience but if he wanted to return to Hogwarts in the autumn, it was crucial he learnt control now, rather than later.

"Right, follow me. I know just the spot that will work well for what we're going to do, one that doesn't have these peacocks eyeing every movement we make." Atlas called over his shoulder, walking forward. Draco did as he was asked, following behind him, though he sent the Dragonborn a suspicious look.

"How do you know the estate so well?"

"I'm a part of the pureblood society, Draco." Atlas answered, before pausing slightly, correctly himself. "Or I was. The Malfoys are well known for their… hosted events. I came here when I was younger."

"So during all the parties you came out here, far away from not only the gardens, but the Manor in general, for just a _stroll_?" Draco clarified, his accusation clear in his bemused tone.

"You're too smart for your own good, you know." Atlas grudgingly admitted with a scowl.

"Maybe if you answered honestly the first time, my intelligence wouldn't be a danger to my wellbeing." Draco chided cheekily. Atlas glared at him.

"Your grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, took an interest in me. He invited me to the Manor frequently, in the hope Lucius would befriend me. All for manipulative reasons, of course."

"Did it work?" Draco asked.

Atlas didn't answer, instead ducking under a few tree branches and weaving around the shrubbery to arrive on an embankment next to the lakeshore. Draco stopped, frowning at Atlas' silence, before following him through, immediately struck by Atlas' change in mood as the man turned around to face him.

"Right, this is good. Peaceful. Perfect atmosphere." Atlas declared, inspecting the area. Draco stood still, eyeing him warily.

"For what exactly?"

"You are going to shift without fully transforming." Atlas answered, not looking back at Draco.

" _What?_ "

"Sit down." Draco didn't move. Atlas sighed, rolling his eyes. "Just sit down, Draco."

Draco frowned, eyeing the dirt and grass for a few seconds, remembering clearly the days when he would return to the Manor, covered in grass stains and dirt from playing in the grounds, climbing trees and swimming in the lake. If his Father ever saw the mess he made, Lucius would shout and scold him with lectures about how a Malfoy does not play in the dirt, sentencing him to spend the rest of the evening in his room. Sitting on the grass, without a cloak or blanket, seemed improper. Atlas should know that, or maybe he did. He just didn't care.

Tentatively, Draco sat down across from Atlas. Atlas raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Draco asked defensively. Atlas shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"Nothing. I just thought you'd protest more is all. Amount of times Lucius complained… No wonder that spell turned him into a peacock…."

Draco frowned, but before he could question what in Merlin's name _that_ meant, Atlas had already stopped muttering and had changed topic.

"Anyway, controlling the shift. Very tricky business. Even older Dragonborns still struggle sometimes. Salazaar, there are even times when your instincts and emotions can be so strong they take over."

"You've told me this before." Draco rolled his eyes, stating the obvious, making Atlas glare at the boy sat opposite him.

"Because this is important. Now, please listen."

Draco huffed.

"As I was saying, emotions can often be a dilemma. Dragonborns, as I've mentioned before, feel everything more intensely. Dislike turns to hate, anger to blind fury and love, well… love and lust often get mixed together."

"Your point being?"

"The point is, we are passionate creatures, Draco, and sometimes, if you're not careful, those same passions can rule you." Atlas explained, his tone becoming serious. "Now," Atlas continued, holding up his fingers, "there are two ways you can loose control: the first, resulting in a full transformation and possibly loosing all sense of logical humanity in the process until you snap out of it, essentially becoming a dragon on every level; the second however, is much more complicated, where you can maintain power over your mind, but shift only halfway." Atlas let this sink in, watching Draco react to information before he continued. "The second you can learn to control but the first, the first you can only prevent from happening."

"When you say shift halfway, what exactly to do mean?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You don't transform into a dragon but certain features may manifest itself. Like before your first transformation. Scales, eyes…" Atlas glanced at Draco's hands. "…claws. They all shift."

Draco swallowed, looking down at his own hands, trying to imagine having claws. He looked back up at Atlas, before nervously voicing the request that had already formed in his mind. "Can you, I mean, can you show me?"

Atlas frowned. "Only if you want me too."

"I want you too." Draco eagerly confirmed.

"Okay then." Atlas eyed Draco warily, before slowly closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply, sat cross-legged with his hands placed on either knee. Draco watched in fascination as scales began to appear on Atlas' neck and on the edges of his face, mostly obscured by his hair and collar. Then Draco noticed Atlas' fingernails had grown, turning black and dangerously sharp, lengthening into long, talon-like claws. When Atlas finally opened his eyes, the reptilian slits of his dragon form stared back.

"That's…I-I…that's…woah." Draco stammered, jaw hanging open. Atlas smirked, dragon eyes full of amusement.

"Eloquent, as ever."

"Shut up." Draco snapped his jaw shut, glaring at the Dragonborn.

"Our human forms are stronger like this." Atlas explained as he raised his hand, moving his fingers to show the deadly claws. "Some even say this is our true form, our bodies taking the shape of either a man or a dragon only as a form of highly evolved camouflage, though there is no evidence to prove it."

"How do you do it?" Draco asked curiously, tearing his gaze away from Atlas' claws to gaze at the man's face.

"You remember what I taught you? During your first transformation?"

Draco nodded. "Amplectre flammis."

"Yes." Atlas agreed, his lips curling into a proud smile. "Embrace the flames, except who you are, welcome the dragon inside. But there's also more to it than that. To half shift, and to prevent yourself from losing control, you require an anchor. As I said before, we are creatures of emotion. You need an anchor to centre yourself, to bring you back to reality when your head runs away from you."

"What do mean by an anchor?" Draco asked.

"A thought, memory, emotion – even a person. Whatever works best. There's a wizarding spell called a Patronus and when casting it, you have to use a happy thought – an anchor - to conjure it."

"So you have to think of a happy thought?"

"Not exactly." Atlas paused, trying to find the right words to explain it so Draco would understand. "You need something powerful. The point between rage and serenity. Something that may not be completely positive, though neither completely negative. Balanced, perhaps, yet still overwhelmingly emotional."

Draco frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Trust me, Draco, it will. Eventually. Why don't you try it?" Atlas prompted.

"It won't work." Draco immediately insisted, making Atlas roll his eyes.

"Humour me, will you? Remember, you don't won't to transform completely. If you feel that coming I want you to push it away, to lock it down."

"Okay, Okay." Draco raised his hands, a sign of defeat, giving in to Atlas' prompting. "Give me a chance, will you?"

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes like Atlas had done. He concentrated, trying to find an anchor, to find control. Minutes past, Atlas waiting patiently while Draco remained completely human in appearance, though his face was beginning to show his frustration.

"Oh, I give up!" Draco finally burst out, leaping to his feet. "This is stupid. I can't do it, Atlas."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

Atlas stared at Draco impassively, his face stoic in the onslaught of Draco's anger. "Maybe not yet. You need practice, Draco. Did you really think I would expect you to be able to get it in your first go?" Atlas asked, standing to his feet. He quirked an eyebrow, before turning around and leaving the lake shore, expecting Draco to follow.

* * *

A few days later, Draco ascended the stone steps, quietly humming to himself as he entered the Manor, hair still wet, sticking to the back of his neck. Outside, it was a scorching summer's day, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. His mother, ever the opportunist, had invited most of the wizarding world's most elite witches over to the Manor to enjoy cocktails and champagne on a secluded shore of the lake. Although at first his mother's plans had frustrated Draco, as he himself had planned to spend a day at the lake ("Which I can't exactly do so now, can I mother, since your harpie friends will start gawping at me as soon I swim seven laps in three minutes." "They are _not_ harpies." "Bulestrode sure looks like one." "DRACO!"), it turned out it was a blessing in disguise. His mother's sudden beach party had given him the chance to spend his morning on the opposite side of the lake, away from the stronger currents. Swimming laps uninterrupted, he tested how long he could hold his breath underwater without the aid of a Bubble-Head Charm. His record so far was seven minutes, though he had a feeling if he kept practising, he could hold his breath underwater for much longer.

It was amazing how he had to rediscover what limits he could push his body to. In human form, he was no way near as powerful as when he was in his Dragon form, but even so, his abilities far surpassed any average human. His stamina was enhanced, not just his strength, and combine that with a higher metabolism, created something that didn't need magic to win a fight. In the last few days Atlas had gone through various exercises with him, showing him how to withdraw his strength so he didn't smash every glass he picked up or pull off every doorknob he grabbed. Overall, it was all about focus. It hadn't been hard to grasp really – Draco always spent most formal events concentrating on being careful about everything, including what he says, how he acts, how he even _stands_. Adapting the awareness to his usage of strength and pace hadn't been much different.

Before making his way up to his suite, Draco made a quick stop at the kitchens, slipping into the vast space unnoticed by the house elves. The clang of pots and pans assaulted his ears, the rich smell of baked bread and cooking food making his stomach growl as the elves themselves rushed back and forth, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces and soups, creating tasty delights and delicious meals. The wooden counters and shelves were lined with an array of ingredients, filling jars and crates, adding even more scents to the fray as the food cooked in the old blackened-iron ovens.

Not wanting the attention of the elves (as he knew they would blab to his mother – especially Kelly, god how he hated that tattle tale house elf – and Draco would have to live with his mother pestering him for a week asking about if he was eating enough), Draco snatched a green apple from one of the bowls lining the shelves, throwing it once in the air before catching it. He was about to take a bite as he turned to leave, only to spot one of the elves place a tray of freshly baked pumpkin cakes onto the counter not far from him. He glanced at the elf who had placed them there, it's back now turned and preparing some other baked good, oblivious to Draco's presence. Draco looked once at the apple in his hand, and then at the fresh cakes laid on the baking tray. Then he smirked.

Ten minutes later, Draco ascended the staircase, taking a bite out of the pumpkin cake. He weaved his way through the corridors and hallways, passing statues and dozens of paintings on the way. Some he greeted with a smile, others he sneered at (which caused them to respond in kind) and some he even avoided altogether. Especially his grandfather's. The man had only died the year before, Draco having not seen him personally in a longer time than that, but somehow his painting still gave Draco chills.

When he finally arrived at his suite, Draco stuffed the last of the cake in his mouth as he pushed the double doors open. They swung wide as he swaggered into his suite, and as he passed the armchairs and sofas, his fingers traced the furniture and brushed against the walls in a restless manner. Draco even stopped a few times, picking up objects and toys that were sat on the shelves, before placing them back again, clearly uninterested. For a while, he moved slowly past the bookshelves, reading the titles off the books in his personal collection, but he'd read most of them ages ago and the ones he had received for his birthday had been read during the days when he was bedridden from the Dragonborn transition.

Finally, Draco picked up his Quidditch magazines from his bedside table, letting himself fall back onto his bed and sink into the cushions. Uncomfortable, Draco fidgeted, deciding to lay on his stomach instead as he tried to focus on the articles with the magazine. But even the contents found within Seeker Weekly failed to keep his focus.

Frustrated, he dropped his head onto the magazine and groaned into it, startling his Great Eagle Owl, Artemis, who hooted in annoyance from her cage next to his desk. It was useless. Draco Malfoy was horribly, impossibly bored.

Mumbling incoherently, Draco turned his head, sighing when he saw Artemis glaring at him from her cage. At least, Draco thought she was glaring at him. It was hard to tell since her large owl eyes constantly created the appearance of shock, but the from the way she was ruffling her feathers and occasionally squawking in his direction offered a different interpretation.

"Sorry girl, did I wake you?" He asked her as he made his way over to her cage, feeding her an owl treat. Artemis hooted in response, nudging his hand fondly with her beak. "Yeah, right little attention seeker, aren't you?"

Draco's eyes moved to his desk, noticing for the first time a piece of parchment laid on the vanished oak. His hand stilled from stroking Artemis' feathers, much to the bird's frustration, causing her to nip his finger in retaliation. Draco cursed, jumping back as he sent the owl a cold glare, before he moved over for a closer look at the note. Above his head, the dragon figurines dived and swooped through the air as he picked the parchment up.

 _Draco, I have some business to attend to, which means I won't be here to carry out any lessons today. I hope these books interest you instead – hopefully you'll learn a thing or two._

 _Atlas._

Draco lowered the note, looking over to the tower of tomes, old books and scrolls piled in the corner of his desk. Curious, Draco sat down, pulling the pile towards him. With each book he inspected the titles, his intrigue only increasing tenfold when he realised they were Dragonborn of origin. They detailed various subjects, the titles varying from 'A Brief Dragonborn History', 'and 'The Royal Families, A History' to 'Arcadia, Selencia and Aragon: A Guide to the Geography' . There were also various books detailing Dragonborn culture, a book called 'Creatures of Our World – The Ultimate Bestiary' and several diaries, two of which Draco soon realised were written by Merlin himself.

However, three diaries were untitled and when Draco opened the front cover of the first, he was met with the sight of runes instead of letters, and not the kind of Ancient Runes he studied at Hogwarts. No, these were more intricate, almost elegant in design. He knew it had to be a diary because as he flipped through, the runes were handwritten, sometimes accompanied by hand-drawn ink sketches. Brow furrowed in confusion, Draco picked up the note again, hoping to find an answer as to why Atlas had given him the books which he couldn't possibly read. When he turned the parchment over, he noticed Atlas had left a note.

 _The last three diaries were written by Draconis Ambrosius himself. They contain…well they contain some very disturbing truths. Only read them if you truly wish to understand our sacred history. I look forward to hearing how you figured out how to translate them._

Frowning harder, Draco turned back to the diaries, flipping through the pages once more, even shaking the leather-bound parchment pages to see if anything fell out. Nothing did. Defeated, Draco leant back, rapping his fingers against the wood restlessly as his mind tried to work out the riddle. How could Atlas expect him to read it if it was in another language?

Atlas had told him that the gift of the Dragonborn was inherited, passing down to generations of bloodlines. However, Atlas had also hinted that Dragonborn abilities were not the only things passed down. What if the runes were some ancient language the Dragonborns used to use centuries ago, and even unconsciously, a Dragonborn could still remember how to read it today? No, that couldn't be the only key…. That would be too simple… Maybe he had to prove he was a Dragonborn as well – maybe even an Ambrosius? Yes, that was probably more likely. Draconis Ambrosisus wouldn't want anyone to read his personal journals. But how to prove he was descendant…

Draco froze. His hand halted its irritating tapping against the desk as realisation hit him.

Spurring into action, Draco grabbed the journal closest to him, opening it up to the first page. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he searched for the dragon that slept inside him, reaching for that ancestral heritage centuries in the making. He could do this. Just find your anchor.

"Amplectere flammis." Draco whispered, as he thought about the first time he had gotten a broom for Christmas, racing out onto to the grounds to fly it at six o'clock in the morning, disregarding his other twenty or so presents.

Draco stared down at the parchment, waiting for something, anything to happen. The runes didn't translate, secrets weren't revealed. Looking down at his hands, Draco realised nothing had changed. His eyes hadn't shifted, his claws hadn't grown. He still hadn't found his anchor.

Sighing, Draco threw the journal to the side, picking up one of the more readable textbooks instead.


	9. Fire, Blood & Magic

CHAPTER 9:

Fire, Blood & Magic

Draco released a roar of anger, hurling the stone into the lake, watching as it crashed into the surface and disappeared below. A few water birds, mostly mallards and red-beaked moorhens, were startled by the commotion, fleeing the scene and taking flight into the summer evening air, their indignant protests echoing across the lake.

Almost two weeks had passed since Atlas had told him to practice his control, to learn himself how to shift without fully transforming. Nothing had happened. In the meantime, Atlas refused to allow Draco to shift fully to his dragon form, insistent that if he couldn't control his emotions and choose to shift halfway on his own, it was too dangerous to keep changing from man to dragon. The more times you transform, the easier it gets and closer to the surface the inner dragon becomes. But most importantly, it also becomes easier to lose control. If Draco didn't master shifting partially, he wouldn't be able to control himself if his emotions and instincts take over. He needed to learn how to run before he could even hope to fly.

Frustrated, Draco turned on his heel and made his way back to the Manor, his clenched hands shoved deep inside his trouser pockets. He couldn't do it. Atlas was wrong. He didn't need practice, he just couldn't do it. His advice had been stupid anyway. Stupid, moronic advice – no, it wasn't even advice. It was a riddle. Nothing was a straight answer, just riddles and skeptic sentences thrown together in a jumbled mess. Stupid, cryptic Dragon.

A light drizzle of rain began to fall, souring Draco's mood further. Grumbling, Draco pulled his light summer jacket tighter around his shoulders. The clouds rumbled overhead as Draco dashed for the Manor, weaving through the rose garden as the rain began to fall harder. He ran up the stone steps, pushing open the ballroom doors, which were closest, and quickly disappeared inside. Shaking his soaked hair, Draco pulled off his muddied shoes, leaving them on the polished floor for the house elves to clean up.

His Father's greyhounds bounded up to meet him once he left the ballroom, probably having heard him open the doors from a few rooms down. Duke and Scout barked excitedly in greeting even though Draco couldn't manage a smile in return. He knelt down to give the two of them a scratch behind the ears, pink tongues lolling out of their mouths in bliss. A whistle from far away made their heads turn, both dogs scrambling to their feet as they sprinted down the hallway, barking and yapping at each other, answering their Master's call.

Shaking his head, Draco turned around. He made his way through the Manor, striding through the hallways across parquet and chevron flooring, ignoring the gossiping portraits of Ladies in the Long Gallery, passing the Parlour, Drawing room and many other rooms, including the Library on his way upstairs. Without even realising it, Draco made his way to the music room, subconsciously searching for the one place that had always served as a sanctuary growing up.

He paused outside the carved oak double doors, before moving forward and pushing the doors open together. Inside, it was just as ornately decorated as the rest of the Manor, even though it was one of the smallest rooms. A chaes lounge chair stood beneath the furthest window, other lounge chairs, loveseats and little chairs dotted around the room. The musical instruments, some with gold lacing their wood, took pride of place in the quaint little room. The small glass chandeliers and candelabras lit up the room as the summer storm began to rage outside, rain pelting the windows, but Draco could remember the way the sun would hit this room, basking it in golden light, making it feel like an airy and welcoming place, much larger than it actually was. And at the far back in the corner, stood a gorgeous, ebony grand piano.

Draco headed straight for it, sitting down on its cushioned piano stool and placing his fingers across the keys. Swallowing, as if in a daze, Draco lifted his hand and pressed the first white key.

 _His Mother pressed the first key, its sound resonating throughout the room._

" _See, Draco? This key is the note, C, which always comes before the set of two black keys." She explained, smiling down at her young, seven-year-old son._

" _So this is a C too?" Draco asked, pointing to another white key, located more in the middle of the piano, but likewise, falling just before a set of two black keys._

" _Yes, my little dragon. After that the keys follow the musical alphabet, which is..."_

" _From A to G."_

" _Very good. Note F is always before the set of three black keys, just like how note C is always before a set of two."_

" _But what do the black keys do, Mother?"_

" _They are mostly the same, but their notes can either be sharp or flat."_

" _What does that mean?"_

" _Well, sharp means to go higher while flat means to go lower. Flat indicates moving to the left of your piano while sharp indicates moving to the right. Sharps and flats are called accidentals." His Mother paused, an amused smile curling her lips as Draco's young face scrunched up in annoyance. "Does that answer your question?"_

" _Why are there so many different notes? Why can't they just be from A to G?"_

" _Because then we wouldn't be able to play music, now would we?"_

" _It's complicated. And I can't reach all the keys like you can, Mother."_

" _Don't worry, my little dragon. You will eventually. These things take practice, you'll see."_

" _Can you play, Mother?"_

" _Play what?"_

" _The one you always play." Draco stated, eyes shining with eagerness and youthful excitement. His Mother laughed, a light and happy sound, smiling down at her son._

"' _The Dragon's Star'?"_

" _Yes! That one! Please play it! Please, please, please, please-"_

" _Alright! Alright! But you have to pay attention if you want to play it yourself."_

" _I will!"_

" _You're sure? Are you lying Draco Lucius Malfoy?" His Mother teased, grabbing her son's sides and tickling him. Draco giggled, squirming in her grip._

" _No, I will! I promise, Mother!"_

" _Very good." His Mother straightened, releasing Draco after she gave him one last, pretend glare. Draco grinned up at her, shuffling closer as his short legs dangled from the piano stool. "Now lets see…"_

 _The little boy watched closely as his Mother's hands danced across the keys, each note played together in harmony, one after the other._

Draco's fingers danced across the keys, playing the last, melodic note of 'The Dragon's Star'. Memories of his Mother's laughter hung in the air as the final note echoed, the past imprinting on the future. Draco smiled, dragon eyes glowing in the dim room as rain fell against the windows.

He had found his anchor.

* * *

Draco crashed through the doors of his suite, sprinting through the rooms and heading straight for his desk. Overwhelmed with excitement, he pushed an array of books, parchment, quills and paperweights to the floor in his haste to find the journals. When he finally did, releasing a cry of triumph that startled Artemis from her nap and caused her to shriek angrily in his direction, he hurriedly pulled out his chair and sat down at his desk, opening the first journal immediately.

Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he forced himself to calm down. He thought of his mother, of the piano and the emotions that came with them. When he opened them once more, they were no longer human eyes staring down at the parchment.

"Amplectere flammis." Draco whispered.

Draco's dragon eyes widened as the runes written on the parchment began to glow a dazzling silver, the ink seemingly melting before his eyes. The runes morphed, melting and reforming as silver letters, dancing across the page to form, first words, then sentences. Finally, once everything had settled, the glow subsided, the now readable content returning to its dried ink state. Draco's face split into a smug grin.

Taking care not to tear the ancient parchment (which had no doubt been enchanted to never deteriorate but even so, even magic had its limits) Draco read the elegantly written title, underlined twice, as if emphasising its importance.

 _The Reign of Fire_

 _Draconis Ambrosius_

And written slightly further down the page:

 _May the Triple Goddess forgive us._

Unease crawled into the back of Draco's throat. He swallowed before he turned the page and read on.

 _ENTRY 1_

 _I have never been one to write down my thoughts and experiences. But I believe times are changing. I hope I am wrong. I wish for it more than anything but I fear like many times before, my instincts will prove true. The humans and magical-folk are beginning to become uneasy. They have divided themselves, the non-magical and magical, and they are fighting amongst each other. It's the only way I can describe it. There is so much good that can come from magic, so much life. But we are all aware that the world is a world of balance, a world of life and death. Great evil is always present in the minds of men who wield magic. Whether or not they act on it is another story. I think the humans have realised this and their fear is unnerving them. Human soldiers bearing a human King's crest were spotted attacking a magical town, the inhabitants mostly sorcerers, not far from the border. It is probably a rumour, or perhaps a simple misunderstanding. There must be an explanation._

Draco gaped as he realised what the journals were about. Altas had explained The Purge before and the consequences it brought, the massacre of creatures on both sides and the inevitable retreat of the Dragonborns. But this had to be when it just started, before Draconis created the gateway and found a new world. Intrigued, Draco read on, reading entry after entry.

 _ENTRY 4_

 _The sorcerers have attacked in retaliation. If it was a rumour or not, no-one will ever know, nor, I highly doubt, will they care. Cain and Abel are trying to intervene, to stop the fighting, though I think Cain is reluctant to do so. I hope they succeed but I fear something has started that will not stop easily. Fire catches in a forest that is dying. And I think our united society has been dying for a long time._

 _ENTRY 12_

 _Abel is dead. Cain killed him. He said Abel betrayed us, plotting with the non-magicals to kill us. I cannot believe it. The rulers were ready to sign for peace, to lay down their arms and settle their differences. We believed they would. What fools we have become. Now they are all dead, near enough, and the world has dissolved into chaos. The other Royal Familes are starting to choose sides. They say Cain is supporting the sorcerers, the human magical folk. I do not know what side to choose. They are not our enemies, neither of them are. No, our enemies wear different faces. I don't understand why they have become to hate each other so much. I doubt I ever will._

Draco clutched the book tightly, fully immersed by the words. Some pages were missing or torn, making the entries hard to read. Some entries repeated events making Draco skip a few in his impatience. However, hours still passed before he reached another goldmine of new information.

 _ENTRY 45_

 _The world might be ending. They have turned on us, both the sorcerers and non-magicals. They may hate each other, something I never understood, but now their hatred of us has united them. At least, for the time being. They have learnt our weaknesses, creating weapons that can hit us in the skies. Flying is no longer safe for the young ones. Moreover, they are hunting us down like animals – even hiding out this storm is no longer an option. They have built huge pyres to test which of us are Dragonborns. Our human forms immunity to fire, our ability to never burn, has been turned against us. So many innocents are dying because of their hatred of us, hatred born from jealousy of our power, according to Cain. Men. Women. Children. I fear for our future._

Draco swallowed as the entries began to get darker, as if the writer had begun to lose hope.

 _ENTRY 51_

 _Cain has risen through the ranks. He is persuading them to fight back. He wants to burn them all, burn their cities and their kingdoms. He believes they need to be reminded of why we were their kings. Many agree with him. Even I am beginning to want retribution, but still I hesitate. I think I will ask Cain if there is another way. Not all of them have wronged us. We must protect the thousands of innocents in this terrible war, or we will be just like them. Worse, we'll prove them right. We are not monsters, we are Dragonborns. _

This was underlined in the writer's clear defiance and anger.

 _We helped create the realms of men, helped protect them in their hours of need. We shouldn't stop just because the actions of a few have caused this war._

 _ENTRY 58_

 _The Reign of Fire has begun. The city is nothing but ashes. Thousands are dead. Cain made sure we burned them all. When Cain showed me what they had done to our people before the battle, I thought they deserved everything. They deserved to burn, to suffer agony and torment forever. They killed hundreds of us. Now we have slaughtered thousands of them. They couldn't even fight back._

 _Maybe we are monsters after all._

Draco flipped through the pages, heart racing as the entries became darker still, tainted by the horrors of war.

 _ENRTY 67_

 _The war rages on. We should have never burned their cities. It only solidified their hatred of us. I don't think this world is our home anymore. Maybe…Maybe we can find another world. Start again. Leave the sorcerers and non-magicals to their world. We are losing too many, on both sides. Cain is becoming ruthless, so much so I do not recognise him anymore. I don't understand how the world has become so dark either, not when I remember seeing a future that was so very bright._

Draco swallowed. He flipped through the pages, reading every entry, nerves on edge as they got shorter each time. His hand stilled when his eyes found the shortest entry, eight words having a greater impact than a thousand.

 _ENTRY 83_

 _There is nothing left. Only fire and blood._

"Shit." Draco lent back, running a hand through his hair, overwhelmed. But he had to keep reading. He knew it didn't end like this…

 _ENTRY 99_

 _I have found a way. A way to leave, to create a new sanctuary. We can leave this world forever. I must tell Cain. I know he thinks we can win this war, but the cost is too high. We have lost too much. We must save what we have left._

Anticipation coursing through his veins, Draco rushed through the next entries, eyes widening as they fell on the last one.

 _ENTRY 105_

 _This will be my last and final entry. The Dragonborns are leaving for a better world, one that I have made sure Cain can never enter. It was him. It was always him. He started the war. Disguised attacks as non-magical or magical to make the humans fight against each other. He killed Abel when he found out. He tried to kill me as well, and he nearly succeeded. All because he believed the humans didn't have the right to live in our world. If he thinks this is our world, then he can stay, as can his followers. They can stay and the humans can hunt them down one by one, slaughter them like the animals they are. Call it justice for the millions of deaths they have caused. I hope they burn. I hope the fire in their blood leaves them so they can feel the heat. Cain will suffer for eternity. I made sure of it._

 _Maybe one day we will return. I hope it to be so._

Draco read the last line over and over again. He flipped the page, looking for more writing, but it was the last entry, just as Draconis had said. He swallowed his shock, running a hand through his hair. Centuries of bad blood between wizards and muggles, centuries of loss on both sides and all of it – all of it – was pointless. The muggles never attacked them. Nor had the wizards.

"Merlin…" Draco breathed, flipping back over the pages, hoping what he had read was somehow wrong, somehow all a mistake. But it wasn't. No matter how many times he read the entries, the words on the page never changed.

"Doing some light reading?"

Draco jumped out of his skin, slamming the journal shut as if to hide its contents. He spun round in his chair, only to find Atlas Ambrosius smirking down at him from his position leant against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest.

"Atlas?" Draco questioned, his tense shoulders relaxing at the sight of him.

"Do I look like someone else? Maybe reading something you don't want your parents to see?" Atlas teased, standing up straight and walking into Draco's study.

"You're one of my parents as well, you know." Draco drawled, smiling.

"Well then," Atlas began, taking on an air of fake seriousness, "I must, as a parent, inquire about what was such a fine read that you don't want anyone else to see."

"It's the journals you gave me."

"Which ones? Merlin's?" Atlas grinned, excitement and amusement shining in his eyes, as he leant over Draco's shoulder to get a closer look.

"No. The ones about the Purge."

Atlas froze. He glanced at Draco, meeting the boy's eyes. His teasing smile had vanished, replaced by a hard resolve, a shocking contrast to the emotions he was expressing before.

"You figured out how to read it?" Atlas asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly in shock. Draco pouted at Atlas' clear lack of confidence in his capabilities.

"You're surprised I did?" He accused. Wisely, Atlas quickly backtracked, leaning on the desk and looking down at him.

"No, not really." He smirked, noticing the scratches on the desk where Draco had accidently caught the wood with his claws. "I guess this means you found your anchor then."

"Yeah, I guess." Draco admitted sheepishly, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the scratches in the wood. "Though it's no thanks to you." He added in defiance, making Atlas laugh.

"What memory did you use?" He asked.

"Mother teaching me to play piano."

"Doesn't sound too special." Atlas commented, staring down at him. Draco stared back, expression hard.

"It was for me."

Atlas considered him, his eyes curious. "Why?"

 _The little boy watched closely as his Mother's hands danced across the keys, each note played together in harmony, one after the other. He tried to copy her, listing to her instructions. When Draco looked up, sensing someone was watching, he saw his father leaning on the doorframe, a proud smile on his face as he watched his wife and son._

"It just is." Draco defended, the answer too complicated to put into words. He paused, noting Atlas' seemed to be waiting for him to ask the question. "Is it true?

"Is what true?"

"What these journals say? D-Did a Dragonborn start a war, killing millions, even his own kin, for a…for a world without humans?" Draco watched in growing unease as Atlas clenched his jaw, averting his gaze as pain and anger flickered behind his eyes.

"No. It was much worse than that." Atlas sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He pulled a chair over, sitting down carefully beside Draco.

"From what evidence we can find, Cain wanted to rule. There have always been seven Dragonborn Kings, even back then. Seven Kings – or Queens – for seven continents, seven realms. Cain was not one of them but a Dragonborn he knew, a brother in all but blood, known as Abel, was one of these Kings." Atlas paused, as if gathering what he wanted to say. "Cain didn't just start a war to destroy humanity and be cheered for it. He started it for a crown." Suddenly, Atlas laughed, but it was mirthless and cold, making Draco swallow. "Or maybe he didn't. We don't know for certain. Maybe he just started a war because he enjoyed it."

"So… the muggles never attacked us. The Dragonborns did." Draco whispered in understanding.

"No, not the Dragonborns. Cain." Atlas emphasised, making Draco meet his gaze. "Never label something because of the actions of one. It only spreads lies. And lies… well, they can start wars."

"Atlas, it said…it said they built pyres. To find Dragonborns. But it didn't kill them because Dragonborns can't burn." Draco looked up at Atlas, hinting for him to explain.

"No. We can't." Atlas confirmed. "It's not just our dragon skin that is fireproof. Our human forms are as well. You can't burn something that already has fire inside it's blood."

"So… if, theoretically, I put my hand in a fire it wouldn't…?" Draco trailed off as a smile broadened on Atlas' face, a warmth and fondness awakening in his eyes.

"No. You wouldn't burn." Atlas snapped his fingers and suddenly a fire burst to life in Draco's fireplace. He jerked his head in the direction of the fire. "If you don't believe me, try it." The amount Draco's eyes widened in response was almost comical.

"You're sure I won't burn? I mean, technically I'm only half Dragonborn, right? My mother is a witch and you're a Dragonborn, and I haven't exactly known about my heritage for long-"

"Draco. You won't burn." Atlas placed his hands upon Draco's shoulders, interrupting his worried rant. Draco didn't appear convinced by Atlas' reassurance.

"You're sure?" He asked sceptically. Atlas smiled gently in response.

"Certain."

Draco swallowed, glancing at the flames crackling in his fireplace. Fire, ironically, didn't look dangerous. The way the flames danced and jumped in the grate was beautiful, an exotic animal caged by stone walls. But like all exotic animals, fire had a deadly bite. One touch could burn the skin, boiling flesh to the bone. For humans at least. But Draco wasn't human. He really needed to stop forgetting that.

Cautiously, he began to make his way to the fireplace, trying to ignore the way the flames cackled and spat, as if taunting his fear in his face. Draco clenched is fists, forcing each foot to move in front of the other. When he reached the fireplace, he knelt down, staring into the glowing amber flames once more.

"If I burn my hand, I'm so going to hex you Atlas..." Draco muttered, under his breath. Closing his eyes, Draco raised his hand. He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. Then he plunged his hand in the flames.

Draco waited for the pain, waited for the inevitable moment where he would scream in agony. But there was no searing pain, no stench of boiling flesh. Nothing happened.

Draco cracked an eye open slowly, afraid to what he would see. In front of him, held over the flames, was his unmarred hand. No burns. No pain. It was if it wasn't even in the flames. There was a certain warmth – Merlin, when Draco actually thought about it, the flames tickled a bit…

"Not bad is it?" Atlas asked from behind him. Draco turned to face him, a wide, if shocked, grin on his face. He drew his hand from the fire, staring at the skin that looked perfectly normal, without even a scratch.

"This is… This is impossible." Draco breathed.

"Ah, that's the thing about Dragonborns, Draco." Atlas began, placing his own hand above the flames, as if playing with the fire. He looked back at Draco, a wide grin spreading across his face. "We've always defied the impossible."

* * *

"If the muggles used pyres to find Dragonborns why did they use it on wizards?" Draco asked as they descended the stairs half an hour later, making their way to the dining room for the evening meal.

"Stories always come from somewhere, Draco. They're always inspired by something or someone. When you ask a muggle what a witch is, they'll picture an ugly hag with warts on her nose, a black pointed hat upon her head, flying on a broom with a black cat sat beside her. Now, witches are not ugly hags - although some are - and they do not have warts with long pointy noses and green skin - but they do fly on brooms. And one or two may have a black cat as a familiar." Atlas explained, looking back up at Draco, who was behind him as they made their way down the staircase.

"What's your point?" Draco asked, eyes narrowed.

"My point is, there is always truth in stories, even if only a little. It may be buried deep under rock and soil, but somewhere is a diamond just waiting to be found. And the more years that pass, the more rock and soil that builds up and covers it from discovery." Atlas stopped on a landing between the first and ground floor, turning on the stairs to face Draco.

"These journals, they were not written centuries ago – they written millennias ago." He emphasised as he continued. "Dragonborns united the Ancient realms, unifying hundreds of species, protecting them from common foes. The time of peace lasted a millennia but it was so long ago that all evidence of it was destroyed, except for tall tales that very few believe." Atlas turned back around and descended the last set of stairs, Draco following closely behind as he continued to listen intently. "The same can be said about the legends revolving around us. The Dragonborns left this world because we found another one, in another dimension. We cast Cain out, banning him from following us, cursing him and his descendants to forever wander this world, but never ours. The muggles, as you call them, forgot about us but they never forgot about wizards because-"

"The wizards never left." Draco realised, finishing his sentence. Atlas smiled, nodding in affirmation.

"Over the generations the truth got mixed with fiction, it dissolved and blew away with the wind. So instead of the method of burning pyres to find Dragonborns, it became a method to identify any and all magical folk. If they burn and die: they're innocent. If they don't burn: they're a wizard. Or witch, I suppose." Atlas explained.

"But the method didn't work." Draco concluded.

Atlas nodded. "Not unless you, by some impossible chance, caught a Dragonborn. And even if you did, we're incredibly hard to kill. In dragon form spells are mostly useless, as are muggle weaponry because our hides are so thick. The only material that could penetrate our hides were weapons of our own preference, used by our own warriors. Dragonglass blades, otherwise known as…" Atlas trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Draco, as if asking for the answer. Draco's brow furrowed in thought before his mouth opened slightly, eyes bright, and turned to Atlas as realisation dawned on his face.

"Obsidian."

The corner of Atlas' lips quirked into a smile. "You know, you're quite smart for your age." He complimented as they finally arrived downstairs.

"I'm second in my class. Top, in Potions." Draco bragged, preening under the compliment.

"Well done." Atlas grinned proudly, ruffling Draco's hair. He walked away, heading for the dining room and Draco sprinted after him in order to catch up. "Knowledge is power. Practical skills will get you far, but not far enough if you don't have the theory and smarts to back it up."

"Father has always insisted I have private tutors, even after I started to attend Hogwarts." Draco explained as he slowed down, walking by Atlas' side.

"Lucius made the right decision. You're still young Draco and you need have fun. But you also need to prepare for the future – the beauty of this world and its threats. And you can't do that if you don't know bloody anything about it."

"So... You were talking about the pyres." Draco offered.

"Right." Alas nodded. "Now, over the centuries, there were periods when wizards and muggles learnt to co-exist once more, but they always remembered the tragedies of the past - the Blood feuds, the wars. Salazaar Slytherin was particularly paranoid because of his fear of the past and the atrocities muggles had committed and some were still committing. And because of that, wizards and muggles like Salazaar could never live in the present. They could never move on. A never-ending circle of constant division. It's the reason for the Statue of Secrecy - it's the reason purebloods are so against muggles because they remember the most. Their ancestors witnessed the bloodshed first hand and they can't forget that."

"Are you saying we should forget and forgive? Shake hands with the muggles and mudbloods over a pot tea? Maybe give them a biscuit?" Draco exclaimed, disgust evident in his voice.

"Draco… You know that's not what I meant." Atlas slowed to a stop, frowning down at Draco.

Draco sighed. "Look, Atlas… What you're saying about Dragonborn history, about _this_ world's history. Wars started because of lies. I get it. But the muggles – they could have stopped at any time but they didn't. They've killed hundreds of us. Merlin, I can even name relatives, like you said, who I know were burned at the stake. What makes it worse, is now I know that not only are wizards superior to them, but Dragonborns are too."

"Draco-" Atlas tried to interrupt, but Draco was not listening.

"And what did we do? All that power, all that magic and we hide and we cower from them. It was wrong for Cain to destroy the muggles without cause. It was wrong for wizards to do the same. But we're better than them. This was _our_ world first. Dragonborns are the most ancient species on the planet. We _deserve_ respect."

Atlas' eyes narrowed dangerously in response to Draco's comments.

"Draco, you read the journals. There were no purebloods. No halfbloods. No muggleborns. No muggles. Not even the magical and non-magical. Just _humans_. They lived together, alongside each other as equals. They didn't care if you had magic or not. The division hadn't even been invented yet because there was _never_ a division to start with." Atlas raised his voice, frustration seeping through as anger began to curl his lips into a snarl. Draco recoiled a little, making Atlas pause as he regained his composure.

Rubbing his eyes, exasperation lining his body now, Atlas returned his gaze to Draco. "Cain didn't target muggles. He targeted _humanity_. Wizards _and_ muggles. Does that sound like he viewed wizards as the superior race? No. Because this is what it's about isn't it? Blood supremacy?"

Draco stubbornly turned away, refusing to look Atlas in the eye. Atlas sighed. "I'm not asking you to change your beliefs, Draco. I'm not asking you to agree with me. There was a time where I thought the same, where I hid my fear of them with hate and anger for what they had done. I listened to nobody." Atlas paused, waiting for Draco to react but he remained stubbornly impassive. Atlas rolled his eyes, looking up to the ceiling. "When I did change my mind, when I realised that muggles and wizards had a right to this world as much as I did, it wasn't because I was persuaded. I just looked at the world. Really _looked_. Maybe one day you'll see it too. There's more than one type of magic, kid." Atlas placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, crouching lower to Draco's level and the boy finally raised his eyes to meet his blood father's gaze.

"I'm not even asking you to do anything, Draco. I didn't ask Lucius and I'm not going to ask you. But if you're going to preach Lucius' ideologies, make sure you have all the facts first." With one last reassuring squeeze, Atlas released Draco's shoulders and walked away, leaving Draco standing in the hallway, doubt and uncertainty growing in his mind. However, what neither Atlas nor Draco knew, was that Lucius had heard the entire conversation, out of sight around the corner. And, worst of all, he had hated every word Atlas had spoken.


	10. The Green-Eyed Monster

CHAPTER 10

The Green-Eyed Monster

 _1967, Hogwarts, Slytherin Common Room, 1:46 am._

" _Whatever you say, Malfoy." Theodore Nott teased, grinning maliciously from his position sat in one of the leather armchairs._

" _I'm serious, Nott," Lucius ground out. "I am not afraid of flying." He insisted, but Nott shook his head, chuckling slightly as he drank from his crystal glass. Walden Macnair, Evan Rosier and Antonin Dolohov all grinned along with Nott, while the other pureblood boys present, the Lestranges, the Carrows and Crabbe, all various ages, hid their knowing smirks from the young Malfoy heir._

 _Glasses of Butterbeer, Pumpkin Juice, Tongue-Tying Lemon Squash and even a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey that Nott had raided from his father's desk before he boarded the Hogwarts Express were scattered across the wooden tables. Nott had always loved to socialise. Perhaps he loved the attention - or maybe he simply liked to brag about the Nott fortune by repeatedly inviting his housemates to over-the-top parties. Whatever the case, Lucius had never complained. Nott was an insufferable and vain little shit, but his father's firewiskey was delicious._

" _What do you think, Ambrosius? You're a bit quiet over there. A bit pathetic isn't it? A wizard – nay, a Malfoy - failing miserably as a Quidditch player." Rosier mocked loudly, his grin wild as he turned to face the younger Slytherin boy._

 _Atlas Ambrosius was sat in the corner, his dark eyes observing everyone silently. Tiberus Zabini sat a few feet away, the pair of them sharing a meaningful look. Tiberus was the first to break it, his lip curling as if he was trying to suppress a smirk and lifted his glass to drink a generous mouthful of his butterbeer._

 _Lucius didn't know what to think about Ambrosius. They shared a dorm together with Lestrange, Nott and Zabini, but in truth, Lucius had not interacted with the boy much. The Ambrosius family had never attended Hogwarts before Atlas, instead choosing to keep to themselves and home-school their children, a choice often common within pureblood circles. They rarely attended fundraising Gallas or seasonal Balls, the family preferring to maintain a shadow-like presence within the wizarding world. However, when their secretive lifestyle was combined with their family history as direct descendants of Merlin himself, they provoked an almost celebrity interest from the public._

 _As a result, when Atlas arrived at Hogwarts, seemingly already friends with Tiberus Zabini, and sorted into Slytherin, his presence had caused quite a stir. Pureblood sons and daughters flocked to befriend him – even Lucius had approached him in the beginning, succeeding in being invited over to Ambrosius Manor once or twice. But like everyone else, Lucius soon learnt Atlas was not their typical pureblood._

 _Even as a first year, Ambrosius soon built a reputation for himself. The teachers of Hogwarts were instantly smitten with the boy, praising him for raw talent and exceptional skill. Abraxas was livid at the development, and Lucius found himself feeling similar emotions, along with jealousy._

 _However, what perplexed people, was the way Ambrosius acted. Unlike a typical pureblood Slytherin, the boy did not discriminate anyone, whether for blood status or house. If he finished early in lessons, he often offered to help classmates, even helping Gryffindors, the hated rivals of the Slytherins. By second year, the boy had developed a charm that resulted him in having friends in multiple houses, not just Slytherin._

 _Not that it made much difference to families like the Notts. The days when Lucius' father had invited Atlas Ambrosius to Malfoy Manor were long since over due to the boy's lack of pride, as Abraxas would say. But purebloods like Theodore Nott still associated with him because of one main reason – the Ambrosius family were filthy rich. Anyone with half a brain in Slytherin knew a classmate who was heir to 120 million galleon estate was worth playing nice to, even if you had to smile through your teeth while you did it._

" _I think Quidditch is one of many wizarding sports, Rosier," Atlas began with that charming smile of his that Lucius had seen used on Ladies and Lords alike. "and although Malfoy certainly won't be able to catch a snitch or hit a quaffle, at least we can count on him to put an untraceable potion in the Gryffindor's punch."_

 _The boys laughed uproariously in response to Atlas' comment, all remembering the occasion when Lucius had done just that. No one could deny he was the most skilled Potioneer in his year, not after that incident. Lucius was almost sure Lestrange still had photographs of that day and got them out whenever he wanted to tease the Gryffindors particularly mercilessly._

 _Lucius didn't laugh though. He was too busy trying to hide his surprise that Atlas would defend him. Admittedly, Atlas hadn't defended him outright, but he had distracted the other boys and defended Lucius in such a sly way that Rosier hadn't even realised Atlas had disagreed with him. And no one disagreed with Rosier. The fourth-year boy was easily offended and knew a large range of mean hexes that he often used in revenge._

" _Tell you what, Malfoy," Nott began as he finally regained his composure, sitting straighter as he poured himself another glass. "you agree to a race and if you win – actually forget that, Ambrosius is in the room" Nott backtracked, making Rosier and Dolohov laugh while Atlas rolled his eyes and Tiberus grinned. Atlas was a talented Quidditch player, the Slytherin Seeker at Hogwarts. Since he had tried out in second year, Slytherin had never lost the snitch, even if they had lost the game._

" _I know," Nott continued with a devilish smirk, "If you finish the race without falling off your broom - I'll owe you a favour."_

 _A collection of whistles and excited 'ooohs' resonated through the Common room, many of the boys guffawing. Lucius himself narrowed his eyes at Nott, trying to determine whether he was bluffing. The Nott family were notorious for always carrying out the favours they owed. It was how they operated business, even if said favour was to murder the Minster of Magic, a Nott always repaid their debts. Always._

 _And to have a Nott in your debt? Now that was a very valuable thing._

 _Lucius just had to decide if he could look past the fact that Nott had just insulted and humiliated him in front of everyone else. Though, to be fair, that may be further reason to call his bluff because nothing would please Lucius more that to wipe that smirk off Nott's face._

 _Lucius smiled through his teeth, aware Ambrosius and everyone else were now watching him closely. "You have got yourself a deal, Theodore."_

 _20 minutes later and Lucius was severely regretting saying that. Nott had insisted the race happen immediately, no matter if it was past midnight and if Filch caught them out of their dorms they could lose serious amounts of House Points – perhaps even the chance of winning the house cup. There was over seven of them altogether and if it wasn't for Zabini (how that boy knew so many hidden passageways and secret entrances, Lucius had no idea, but he just added it to the list of secrets the Zabini family seemed deal in) they wouldn't have made it onto the castle's grounds unnoticed. It didn't help that the older Slytherins were slightly drunk either._

" _Right, gents. We'll follow a course for this race since we all know Crabbe's sense of direction is obsolete." Nott declared as he raised his broom, his face cast in the shadow of the Quidditch grounds. A few of the Slytherins chuckled at the jibe._

" _How about a short circuit? Over the greenhouses, bank across the edge of the Forbidden Forest and end with a straight across the Great Lake?" Zabini suggested. Ambrosius was leaning against his broom beside him, smirking lightly._

" _Sounds decent to me." Rosier agreed, nodding. Nott shook his head, scowling._

" _That's way too short."_

" _Well, from the look of those storm clouds we don't have much time, Nott. You don't want to get that pretty head wet, do you?" Ambrosius teased, a mocking smirk curling across his face._

" _Real hilarious, Ambrosius."_

 _The wind had picked up, thunderous storm clouds rolling in from the East. Lucius eyed them warily, not daring to comment as he knew it would only give Nott further ammunition to mock him._

" _I think Zabini's idea is a solid one." Dolohov agreed after a while, sharing a glance with Nott. Whatever they communicated silently seemed to persuade Theodore, the forced aloof look the boy adopted afterwards making Lucius uneasy._

" _Fine, we'll go with that. Mount your brooms, gents. We have a race to begin." Nott decided, a fierce grin crawling along the edges of his lips._

 _For once, Lucius managed to fly well enough to earn an acceptable position within the race. Zabini, Rosier and Ambrosius were by far the most talented flyers, their positions on the Slytherin Quidditch team well-earned. At some point the race stopped being about who could finish first and more about who could pull the most outlandish and skilled tricks. Daring Sloth Grip Rolls and Wronski Feints ensued, the Slytherins diving and spinning past each other with increasing speed and complexity. Lucius hated every second of it, partly because he could never hope to pull off such moves, but also whenever he attempted to pull one off for the sake of pride he became overwhelmed by a sickening sense of vertigo._

" _Looking a bit green there, aren't you Malfoy?" Macnair asked mockingly at one point, before cackling and overtaking him with ease, banking towards the greenhouses. Lucius became determined to at least beat most of the others after that, his hate and humiliation fuelling his ambition to wipe those damn smirks off their bloody faces._

 _When they reached the final straight over the Great Lake, Lucius couldn't believe his luck when he managed to overtake Dolohov while the boy was distracted. His enraged shout was worth the effort._

 _However, as Lucius lowered his body to the broom, pushing it to accelerate as they neared the decided finish line, he became aware of a bright, purple light flashing across his eyes before a sharp pain clipped his side. Overcome by the darkness, Lucius lost his grip on the broom and fell to the deep, dark waters of the lake below._

* * *

" _Malfoy? Malfoy!"_

 _Lucius groaned as felt someone lightly smack his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, only for him to cry out as pain ran up us leg._

" _Ambrosius, is he alive?"_

 _Lucius heard a feral snarl and sensed whatever weight that had been leaning over him move away, thunderous footsteps confirming his suspicions._

" _It doesn't matter if he's alive or not, Dolohov, because you certainly won't be once I'm done with you!"_

 _Lucius tried to open his eyes again, pushing away the searing agony in his leg, only to see a flash of red light that was accompanied by a high-pitched scream._

" _GET BACK HERE DOLOHOV!"_

" _Malfoy, stop moving. You need to keep your leg still." A deep voice close to Lucius distracted him from the angry shouts of Atlas and the terrified yelps of Dolohov. Forcing his eyes open, Lucius finally saw the dark-skinned face of Tiberus Zabini._

" _Zabini?" Lucius croaked, coughing up lake water. His robes were soaked, drenched in murky lake water and stained with mud._

" _Yeah, it's me. Keep still, mate. I'm trying to stop the bleeding. It'll mean nothing if you bleed out before we get you to the Hospital Wing. Oi! Macnair, Rosier, stop gawking and help me you idiots!"_

 _Lucius listened as he heard hurried footsteps approach, somewhat drowned out by the enraged yells of Ambrosius further away._

" _DID YOU EVEN THINK, DOLOHOV? MALFOY COULD HAVE DIED YOU SADISTIC, MORONIC BAS-"_

" _What h-happened?" Lucius managed to ask, shivering from the cold that seeped into his bones because of his wet robes. He squinted up at Zabini, who's eyes were focused on Lucius' leg, his wand out, the tip glowing faintly. Rosier and Macnair appeared in Lucius' peripheral, but he took no notice of them._

 _Zabini seemed to wince as Atlas unleashed another torrent of fury._

" _AND YOU NOTT! WAS THIS YOUR FUCKING IDEA?"_

" _Dolohov shot a curse at you during the race. You fell off your broom into the lake. That would have been fine, but the magical creatures in the lake took a liking to your leg and dragged you under."_

" _Then how did-"_

" _You get out? Atlas dived in after you. You weren't breathing when he pulled you out. You…you nearly drowned. As you can no doubt hear… Atlas, well… He isn't exactly pleased."_

" _No shit, Zabini." Lestrange commented from somewhere to Lucius' right._

 _In a state of shock, Lucius let his head fall back onto the ground, the pain in his leg becoming background noise as his thoughts whirled with the realisation that he had nearly died._

 _And Atlas Ambrosius had saved his life._

" _Malfoy, I know you nearly died and all, but the look on Nott's face right now is absolutely priceless." Macnair commented, grinning like a madman._

 _In unison, they all turned their heads, even Lucius from his position on the grass, to watch the scene unfolding before them. Despite the pain and despite the shock, Lucius laughed._

 _Nott's face was priceless._

" _I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET, NOTT! GET BACK HERE OR YOU'LL BE THE ONE FED TO GRINDYLOWS!"_

* * *

Lucius rubbed his leg, the ghost of the pain he had felt that day still there. It had scarred afterwards, due to the toxins in the creature's teeth. It never had truly healed, troubling him every now and again. As he got older, the mobility in his left leg only worsened, forcing him to carry a cane.

Slughorn had taken an insane amount of House points off Dolohov and Nott, even awarding them detentions, once he was informed of the incident. The teachers had to find out since they couldn't exactly treat his leg themselves. The peculiar thing was, even though Dolohov and Nott were checked into the Hospital Wing because of the amount of curse damage Atlas had inflicted on them, the Ambrosius heir himself didn't receive any punishment. In fact, when Slughorn had found out, he had awarded Atlas points, rather than take them off, making up for all the house points everyone lost for being out of dorms after curfew.

And if Slytherin won the House cup that year because of it, well, Nott and Dolohov knew by then to keep their mouth shut.

From then on, Lucius had developed an admiration for Atlas, and Ambrosius in turn, seemed to develop a brotherly attachment to Malfoy. By the time they returned for their fourth year, everyone knew not to insult Lucius when Atlas was within hearing distance. Lucius stopped spending time with Lestrange and Nott, instead spending more time with Atlas and Ty, which was the nickname Zabini only reserved for close friends. The solid friendship that formed afterwards stayed strong for years, but not strong enough to endure a war.

Which led them here, to Lucius gulping down his hundred-and-fifty-year old firewiskey as he cursed Atlas Ambrosius to oblivion. Not literally, of course – Lucius wasn't drunk enough to dare start a duel with him just yet. But with the way the bottle kept getting emptier, he soon would be.

Lucius had tried to listen to his wife. He had. The problem was, his hate of Ambrosius was a very powerful thing, and each day, as he watched Ambrosius interact with his son – _Draco was his son dammit, Atlas hadn't raised him, hadn't risked everything for him –_ that hate only kept growing. It didn't matter that Ambrosius was teaching Draco how to control the shifts or telling him about the thirty-three fucking districts in the Dragon World, each containing different magical creatures, climates and cities – Lucius didn't give a damn. Draco was _his_ son. And he was determined for Draco to remain that way.

But that couldn't happen if Atlas was spending nearly every hour of every day with the boy, corrupting him with the falsehoods that flowed out of his mouth like a contagious plague.

The only reason he was only breaking now, opening one of the oldest and most expensive (a thousand galleons per glass – you work out the math for how much a bottle would cost) whiskey in his wine cellar, was because Ambrosius had taken Draco flying. Not in their dragon forms. Oh, no – _that_ Lucius could have lived with. No, Ambrosius had taken Draco flying on their brooms. They were practicing _Quidditch_.

Out of everything, Ambrosius had to choose the one thing Lucius had never done with Draco. Take him flying on a goddamn broom. Lucius sucked at Quidditch. He hated flying. He could brew a pristine bottle of liquid luck but Quidditch? Nott had been right about one thing at least. And that made it worse because now Lucius was jealous and he'd be damned if he ever became jealous OF ATLAS FUCKING AMBROSIUS!

Needless to say, Lucius was pissed. Either definition worked. He was just as much drunk as he was angry. And now he was rambling. Lucius snarled and threw the bottle at the wall of his study, screaming in rage as the alcohol splashed across the walls.

He was going to _kill_ Atlas.

* * *

Atlas being Atlas, had made sure the power hadn't gotten to Draco's head. The man had planned a tight training schedule, not just to teach Draco how to learn control. And every lesson, he made sure to knock Draco down a notch or two, reminding Draco he was still a child who knew nothing about what he was or what he could do. The amount on times he had landed on his backside was starting to get ridiculous.

As a Malfoy he'd had a certain upbringing. The first time he had dined with his parents was when he was six and before that he'd spent his days being entertained by either his nanny, or the house elves. Seeing his mother on a daily basis was routine but not often throughout the day and seeing his father at all had been a rarity. Hours of his childhood had been spent learning manners, customs, expectations and routines, educating him in anything from finance to politics. He'd had dance lessons since he was seven, and foreign language lessons for as long as he could remember. His tutors and governess forever drilled into him the responsibilities of running an estate and the expectations that came with a courtship, and that was before magic lessons were even considered. Fun and games were activities he always did second, and never as a priority. The same structure followed Atlas' teachings, though many of them were more practical.

Every day, he probably spent an hour flying in dragon form with Atlas, building up his wing muscles and learning how to fly with skill and precision. He also spent time with Atlas learning Dragon Tongue, the language of the Dragonborns, going through with him the pronunciation of words, explaining the grammar and how to write it. The language was not written with letters, but rather ancient runes, something that at first Draco found hard to understand. However, he soon picked the language up quickly, learning early on that sometimes he instinctively knew what certain runes meant without being taught the meaning. Atlas had explained that it was due to the dragon mind inside him, his subconscious already fluent in the language.

Of course, that meant he spent a lot more time with Atlas. So much more so, that he was truly beginning to enjoy his company. His biological father had a sharp wit that rivalled Draco's, with many shared interests. Although Atlas had never been fond of potions like Draco, he loved Quidditch. The man had been enthusiastic to see Draco play, offering to show him a few moves he had learnt himself over the years.

Hours later, the two of them had returned from the Quidditch pitch Lucius had had built for Draco on his eleventh birthday, covered from head to toe in thick mud.

"ATLAS! DRACO! YOU BOTH BETTER STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Suffice to say, his Mother had not been amused.

"Cissa, it's just a little mud." Atlas tried to explain, laughing off the fury directed at him. His and Draco's faces were streaked with mud marks and a small cut or too. The weather from the previous day had been horrendous, a storm settling over the manor, leaving the ground water-logged and the air crisp. Draco's failed attempts at the Wronski Feint had led to some close calls, though thankfully no serious injuries. Atlas had skidded off his broom multiple times, but from the grace he performed the Wronski Feint and Plumpton Pass, Draco suspected Atlas had fallen deliberately to make sure Draco didn't lose confidence.

"A little mud? _Little?!_ "

"Well, yes. It could be worse – we could have gone out in the storm yesterday." Atlas reasoned, which seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Narcissa grabbed _The Daily Prophet_ from where it had been laid on a nearby apothecary table, rolled it up in seconds, and whacked it round Atlas' ear.

"Ow! What the hell – Narcissa!" Atlas exclaimed as she whacked him again, his hands raised in surrender. A shocked laugh escaped his lips, only making Narcissa whack him again. "You're supposed to be a lady!"

"You are covered in mud and trailing it all over the floors! Do you not know a simple cleaning spell?"

"We left our wands here. We didn't want to break them if we ended up falling on them."

"You fell off your brooms?" She asked, a steely edge to her voice as her eyes narrowed. Atlas froze, as if finally realising the danger he had just got himself into.

"Draco, run. Go! GO!" Atlas yelled, dodging next hit. Laughing, Draco ran for the stairs, Atlas hot on his heels, brooms in hand.

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

"RUN!" Atlas repeated, laughing hysterically now as he and Draco sprinted up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Mud and grass trailed onto the carpets and wood from their filthy boots, only making the boy and man laugh harder.

"ATLAS!"

Once they made it to the third floor, Draco dashed down one of the quieter corridors, heading for the door at the end of the hall. He yanked the door open, only just remembering to hold back his strength so he didn't pull the doorknob clean off.

"Atlas! In here!" he called, keeping his voice low.

Atlas skidded to a stop, following Draco as the two of them slipped inside the room quietly, discarding their brooms. It was a relatively medium-sized room, some kind of disused study space, bookcases and paintings lining the walls, armchairs scattered across the room. A magnificent marble fireplace stood at its head, the magical fire crackling a fierce orange. Atlas carefully pushed the door shut, dropping them in relative darkness as the light from the corridor was extinguished, except for the fire's warm glow and the odd candle burning away, the wax nearly melted to its end.

Atlas winced as the door clicked shut. Holding their breath, they leaned against the door as they listened for Narcissa's footsteps. Her heels tapped across the wooden panel flooring as she passed, pausing at the corner, indecisive about which way to turn. Draco clamped a hand over his mouth as giggles escaped his mouth, adrenaline and childish rebellion making him feel giddy.

"Shush!" Atlas hissed as he tried to stifle his own chuckles, a wide grin plastered across his face. They sobered instantly when Narcissa retraced her steps, Draco trying his best to keep a straight face. His mother passed the door once more, their sensitive hearing making the click of her heels against the polished wood sound closer than it was. Draco and Atlas waited with bated breath as Narcissa paused, before her footsteps continued and eventually faded away. There was a long stretch of silence as they released their breath. Draco burst out laughing.

"It's not funny, Draco! Your Mother would have skinned me alive!" Atlas hissed, his voice still barely above a whisper, aware that Narcissa could still be close by.

"Your face when she hit you with the Daily Prophet!" Draco wheezed, pointing at Atlas' face as if to prove his point.

"Laugh it up, kid. I'm sure it was real hilarious." Atlas deadpanned, half-heartedly glaring down at the boy in front of him, an amused quirk to his lips.

"Oh, it was precious. I'll never forget it." Draco teased.

"And I'll never forget the way you fell face-first into the mud after that spectacular dive." Atlas smirked in retaliation, crossing his arms as he leant against the door.

"That's not fair! You used the Wronski Feint!"

"How is it my fault you didn't recognise the Wronski Feint?"

"Because you are a manipulative, lying halfbreed Ambrosius." A slightly slurring male voice interrupted. Draco and Atlas froze.

It was then that Draco realised the mistake of the not examining the room properly. In his excitement, he hadn't questioned why the window drapes were drawn in the middle of the day, or why the candles had almost burned down to their ends. It wasn't unusual for the fireplace to be lit in an unused room – the house elves were tasked with lighting every fire in the manor at dawn to warm the grand house – but the fact that empty bottles lined its mantelpiece was odd. Even more out of place, was the figure sat in the leather armchair closest to the fire.

At first, Draco didn't realise who it was. The armchair was facing the fire, its vaulting back blocking Draco's sightline. But then he saw his father's cane rested against the table beside it, the silver snake head encrusted with emerald eyes shining in the firelight, it's open jaw menacing as it revealed glistening fangs. A hand reached over, placing a tumbler of whiskey onto the table, before picking up that black cane, the figure rising to his feet.

"A fool would trust a Slytherin yet everyone seemed to trust you." Lucius mused in a bitter, slurring drawl, his tone setting Draco on edge. "Except for Dumbledore. Out of them all, he was the one who knew to never trust the word of an Ambrosius. Says a lot about the man, don't you think?"

Draco glanced over to Atlas, noticing all evidence of childish glee and mischief had disappeared from his face. His youthful appearance often made Draco forget how much older Atlas was compared to him, but now there was no question. Those old eyes, unnerving on such a young face, had turned cold, the façade dropped in favour of a dangerous tilt to his impassive features. It was as if Atlas didn't even exist and someone else, something darker, had taken his place.

"Is there a reasoning to this line of conversation, Lucius? We didn't mean to intrude." Atlas' voice was calm, composed – wary. Its polite nature was out of place, as Atlas recognised a danger here and thought negotiation would be safer than confrontation.

"No, of course not. You never mean to intrude, do you? Always here to _help_." Lucius replied, his voice bitter as he eyed a bottle of 1920s red wine, swaying on his feet slightly as he tore off the cap and took a generous swig of the alcohol.

"Draco, you wouldn't mind leaving myself and your father to talk in private would you?" Atlas asked, never taking his eyes off Lucius.

"That's rather rude of you Ambrosius. You're supposed to be the charmer, always the charmer. Let the boy stay!" Lucius grinned, the smile made unnerving by his uncharacteristic cheer. Then, like a mask falling away, the sneer returned and all the hate with it. "He should hear about who his _father_ is." Lucius spat.

"You're drunk." Atlas stated after a pause. Draco tried not to analyse the way Atlas moved in front of him protectively, shielding Draco from Lucius' view.

"I'm enlightened." Lucius snarled.

"Very drunk then." Atlas corrected. Lucius sneered.

"A Malfoy never lowers themselves to the behaviours of invalids." Lucius hissed, sending Atlas a murderous glare as the man walked forward, each step slow and careful, as if one wrong move would cause the snake to strike.

"You don't drink Lucius. Not excessively like this." Atlas pointed out, hinting for an explanation.

"You can't tell me what I can and can't do, Ambrosius. I am a _Malfoy_."

"I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to ask what's wrong."

"What's wrong?" Lucius scoffed. "What's wrong is you are poisoning my son. Y-You're turning him into some kind of mudblood, halfbreed-loving fool." Lucius slurred.

"What? Lucius –"

"You can't lie to me. You can't fool me. I see you for what you are." Lucius snarled, jabbing a finger at Atlas. It would have been threatening, if the movement hadn't caused Lucius to stumble and nearly fall into the nearby table. Atlas tracked him with his eyes, grimacing slightly at the pitiful sight.

"I am not turning Draco against you Lucius," Atlas began, "I never told him what to think. I have never forced my ideologies upon. Explained them, yes, but forced? I'd never betray him like that. His beliefs are _his_ choice. Not mine and certainly not _yours_."

Lucius heaved himself to unsteady feet, wavering, his anger wild and untamed. "Do you have any idea what it is to be a parent? A parent does what is best for their child, no matter if they agree with you or not. They know nothing of our world! I am protecting him!"

"No," Atlas argued calmly, "You are pushing him away."

"You are turning him against me!" Lucius pointed a finger at Atlas aggressively, voice enraged.

"Oh, I assure you Lucius, you'll end up doing that yourself." Atlas retorted, disgust coating the bitter amusement in his voice.

"Father! Atlas is telling the truth. He's not against you and neither am I." Draco interrupted, stopping Lucius from spitting another biting comment.

"So those books in your room, they're what? Light reading?" Lucius questioned, his disgusted sneer making Draco recoil. However, rage at the breach of privacy soon took its place, making Draco leap forward in anger.

"You were in my room? You looked through my stuff?" Draco demanded, outraged.

"Of course I did. Don't look down on me, Draco. You are in my house and I have every right to know what happens under my roof." Lucius excused, eyes furious.

"My room is private. More than that, they're just books!"

"Books full of lies! You can't seriously believe them, Draco. They talk about centaurs as if they are people, not to mention the complete delusions about other creatures. It is blasphemy! WE ARE WIZARDS!"

"BUT I'M NOT!" Draco yelled back, silencing him. His anger seemed to deflate, withering away as a pleading tone took over his voice. "I don't know if I believe it. I just don't know. What I do know, is that Atlas has answered every question I have asked and everything that's in those books… Maybe it is lies. But what if its not? Maybe they're more human than we realise. I am." Draco finished forcefully, already knowing his father had misunderstood every word he had just said when he met the man's horrified eyes.

"Do you see? Barely two months in your presence. And listen to him. He is questioning over a decade of teachings. He is _nothing_ like them." Lucius snarled, ignoring Draco and turning back to Atlas.

"Father, that's not-"

"YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO!" Lucius roared, slamming his cane down onto the wooden floor. Draco flinched, fearful eyes wide as Lucius glared down at him, aristocratic features engulfed by blind fury.

"Maybe if you hadn't been so insistent with keeping him in the dark, his perception of the world wouldn't have changed so much." Atlas suggested quietly, eying Draco with concern. Lucius stilled, turning to Atlas with such pure hatred Draco feared he would murder Atlas then and there. Instead, what he said next was much worse.

"I hope the Dark Lord returns. Not because of the world he will build but because he will finally have another chance at killing _you_."

Silence reigned; the room much colder than before.

"You don't mean that." Atlas denied, even though his voice had grown more hostile.

"How do you know?" Lucius mocked.

"Because I know you Lucius. In the beginning, you were just as wary of that monster as I was. The only reason you took the mark was because your father forced you to."

"Our cause was worthy." Lucius declared, slamming the nearest table with his palm for emphasis.

"Your cause was suicide and you knew it." Atlas spat.

" _Fine_!" Lucius yelled. "What do you want me to say? That I didn't have a choice? Because I didn't! I had no choice, you know that!"

"I could have helped you! I could have protected you!" Atlas shouted back, anger equally coating his words.

"Like you protected your parents?" Lucius asked with a mocking laugh.

Atlas grew unnaturally still.

"Say that again. I dare you."

Lucius grew quiet momentarily, the level of calmness in Atlas' voice unexpected and out of place. It was still, cold as ice - the quiet kind of anger. The _dangerous_ kind.

Eventually, Lucius' alcohol-addled mind won out and he disregarded all warnings, moving to stand directly in front of Atlas, lips curling into his most hateful sneer yet. There, they stood face to face, noses inches apart. Tension crackled around them like bolts of electricity.

"You're parents are dead because of you." Lucius spat.

Something in Atlas snapped.

Within seconds he had grabbed Lucius by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground. Atlas' face contorted into a feral snarl, eyes shifting, canines sharpening. Lucius began to choke. The tip of his toes scuffed the floor, his legs dangling uselessly as his hands frantically clawed at Atlas' arm. It was no use. The Dragonborn's hold did not waver. Draco's eyes widened, freezing in horror, body refusing to move.

"ATLAS!"

Draco turned, shocked by the feminine scream, only to find the sight of his mother in the doorway, eyes wide and fearful. Atlas turned his head too, face softening at the sight of her. When he turned back to look at Lucius, who was on the brink of passing out, eyes bulging and veins popping, Atlas let go instantly.

Lucius fell to the floor hard, gasping for air. Atlas stared down at him, a range of emotions flickering across his face: shock, anger, guilt, shame. Then Atlas turned, his back to Lucius, face unnervingly impassive. Before his mother could rush to his father's side, Draco watched in horror as Lucius reached for his cane, pulling his wand from its staff and aiming it directly at Atlas' back.

"Atlas! Look out!"

At Draco's warning, Atlas ducked, dodging Lucius' deadly curse just in time, withdrawing his own wand simultaneously. Then all hell broke loose.

Spells, curses and hexes slammed through the air in every direction, lighting up the room in a mirage of colour, smashing ornaments and décor when they missed their target, splintered wood exploding from tables and bookcases. Draco dived behind an overturned table, ducking every time a stray hex or curse sailed over his head. His mother continued to shout over the crack of wand fire but the two men ignored her. Draco had never seen anything like it. He's seen duels, harmless childish things, where spells were used more to humiliate rather than to maim. But this duel showcased no such pleasantries. Hate was put into every spell, and every spell was aimed to hurt, to make the other feel pain.

Draco could tell his father was losing. Lucius was intoxicated, drunk enough to slur his words and waver on his feet. The same symptoms plagued his spellcasting, firing spells that missed their target or failed completely. Atlas was firing every vicious and bloodthirsty spell he could think of, any mercy forgotten when Lucius had fired first. The wizard was barely holding him back. But this wasn't wizard against Dragonborn, Death Eater against Order Member. This was Lucius against Atlas. Personally.

Draco's eyes widened as a powerful hex from Atlas clipped Lucius' shoulder, making the wizard cry out in pain. Enraged, Lucius raised his wand, his face contorted with hate.

"CRUCIO!"

The spell flew across the room, colliding with the shield charm Atlas cast wordlessly to counter it. For a second, Draco thought the shield would hold, the first he had ever heard of an unforgivable being blocked, but Atlas seemed shocked Lucius had even cast it, and perhaps that was why the shield fell, the curse slamming into Atlas' chest with the force of a tsunami. Narcissa screamed.

Atlas' body flew into the bookcases behind him, crashing against the shelves, splintering the wood and causing the books to tumble to the floor. He never made a sound but as he hit the floor, his whole body tensed, convulsing and clenching as he held back a scream. He shouldn't have bothered. His mind was still linked with Draco's and even if he didn't scream out loud, Draco still heard it, the agonising sound tearing through the telepathic bond.

"Atlas!" His Mother raced to Atlas' side, the duel forgotten. "Atlas, can you hear me? Oh God..." Lucius lowered his wand, the wood falling from numb fingers as he realised what he had done.

"I'm fine." Draco heard the croaky reply, not quite believing it belonged to Atlas. His Mother kneeled beside the fallen Dragonborn, hands hovering over his shoulder, afraid to touch him in case she only caused him more pain.

"What have you done?" His mother asked, directing her question at Lucius. His father had frozen, unable to say a single word. Draco didn't like the way Lucius was looking between his mother and Atlas, as if the sight broke his heart.

Painfully slowly, Atlas rose, his eyes alight with silent fiery rage. His body had shifted, scales, teeth and claws made wilder by the image of his deadly eyes. His lips curled into a snarl, taking a step forward towards Lucius. Narcissa stepped into his path.

"Atlas, please. Stop, think. He's not himself, Lucius didn't mean it."

"He used the cruciatus curse. You have to mean it to cast that spell." Atlas' voice was cold, eerily level and void of emotion.

"Please, Atlas. For me." Narcissa pleaded quietly, voice barely above a whisper, as tender as the hand she used to push Atlas back.

Atlas swallowed, finally looking down to meet Narcissa's gaze with his own. It immediately softened. Then, after a pause, he nodded.

Atlas left. He didn't look back.


	11. Photographs

CHAPTER 11:

Photographs

Draco flipped the page of his book, his eyes refusing to focus on the words written among the pages. He glanced up, watching his mother as she likewise flipped the page of her novel, reading glasses perched on her nose as her eyes followed the printed words. When she looked up, connecting with Draco's eyes, he hastily looked away, returning his gaze to the novel below. His mother sighed.

They were in the library. A vast space with entrances from two floors, the family library was a sight to behold, Draco finding it warmer and more inviting than the rest of the cold Manor house. Maybe it was the calming scent of old books that prickled Draco's nose as soon as he set foot inside, or the singing silence of the room, dust shimmering in the sunlight, that succeeded in soothing him no matter his mood. He'd never been a fan of books initially – as a child, he'd hated reading, mostly because the tomes, scrolls and books he was assigned to read by his tutors were boring and dull, making the task more like a chore than entertainment. But then one day, when the pouring rain outside forced him to seek amusement inside the manor, and his music room was sealed off due to his mother's elaborate renovation, he found himself wandering the halls, somehow ending up in the library.

He'd strolled through the first floor, peering through the glass cabinets and podiums that stored magical artefacts and heirlooms, trying and failing to settle on the leather sofas and chairs that littered the centre space, before moving onto the rows of bookcases (though he avoided the restricted section which homed an array of dark arts books that he feared to touch let alone read). Boredom had been a determined motivator, making him pick up a novel that had caught his curiosity and climb the oak and iron railed spiral staircase to the next floor of the library, choosing to settle on a rich forest green leather armchair in the furthest corner, surrounded by bookcases and basking in the glow of the warm lamplight. His mother hadn't found him till hours later.

Since then, although he never read as much as his mother did, he always kept a few novels in his room (though never touching non-fiction again, except for texts on dragons and other creatures of interest – that never ceased to fascinate him). When his father was away on business trips or Ministry meetings, he and his mother often convened in the library, sitting down in the chairs beneath the arched window on the second floor, which overlooked the whole library much like a balcony, just like they had now. The only difference this time was his father wasn't on a business trip, but was currently sulking in his study because his wife had screamed at him for over an hour for fighting with Atlas over two days ago, and the man still hadn't gathered the courage to face her again. Either that, or his father was still furious. Knowing his father, it was probably both.

His mother hadn't been much help with the situation. The last few days had been tense to say the least, his father refusing to talk to him without shouting at him, his mother equally furious which, in contrast, translated into infuriating silence and Atlas was still nowhere to be found. No owls, no sightings, no contact. Nothing. Draco himself, was beginning to boil over with frustration, as his mother, possibly in order to cope with the precarious situation, had decided to ignore the problem altogether and change the subject whenever Draco tried to ask about it.

"What is it?" His mother asked, eyes not leaving the pages of her book. She adjusted her reading glasses that were perched on her nose, her hair tied into an elegant bun.

"Nothing." Draco sighed, closing the novel he had been reading. It wasn't like he could concentrate while reading it anyway.

"It's not nothing, Draco. I know that look." She persisted, removing her glasses and closing her book, diverting her full attention to him. "So, what is it?"

Draco combed his fingers through his hair as he remained silent, gathering his thoughts. If his father simply despised Atlas, Draco wouldn't be as perplexed, familiar with his Father's hate directed at others, such as the Weasleys. Malfoys and Weasleys hated each other as a general rule, had done for decades, but it wasn't personal – it was mutual, both parties merely continuing tradition, sticking to the same prejudices made long ago.

But this was different. Hate wasn't the only emotion at work here. No; this was rage, an all-consuming fury that only intensified the more the two men were exposed to each other. When they collided, the hate and anger having reached breaking point, they were like two opposing forces in the eye of a storm, unleashing carnage onto everything that stood in their way. This was a personal vendetta. And the worst part was, Draco suspected that anger wasn't the catalyst for this destruction. Pain seemed to be the guilty party here. And if all this had stemmed from pain, Draco feared what had caused it.

"Why do they hate each other?" He asked softly, brows knitting together in confusion.

"Who?" His Mother asked, frowning herself.

"Atlas and... Father." Draco forced the word out, knowing his mother would not tolerate him calling his father 'Lucius'. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing the title had lost its respect.

His mother remained stubbornly silent.

"Well?" Draco prompted. "Why do they hate each other?"

His mother seemed to consider her words carefully. "The answer to that question is very complicated, Draco."

"Please, Mother. You're trying to act like what occurred two days ago never happened, which is pointless since it clearly did." Draco pleaded. She sniffed, considering him for a moment, those eyes so like his own staring right through him. For a moment, Draco thought she would shake the question off and change the subject like so many times before, but something in Draco's eyes must have stopped her, another pained sigh escaping her lips.

"Mimsy." She called, never breaking eye contact with him. One of the house elves appeared, popping into his library. It gave a small bow, his mother never even acknowledging its existence.

"Yes mistress."

"Fetch the albums. The special ones." She ordered, her words deliberate, holding unique meaning to the elf. It's eyes widened and Draco watched curiously as it hesitated momentarily before bowing again.

"Of course, mistress." With a pop, the elf disappeared, leaving them alone once more. Draco raised an eyebrow at his mother.

"Photograph albums? Why do you need them?" He asked, frowning.

"You need to see something." She answered vaguely, standing up and placing the novel on the corner table next to her, her glasses on top of it. Then she turned, sitting down once again, gesturing for him to come sit beside her. Draco obliged, a confused expression on his face as they both waited patiently for the house elf to return.

Minutes later, Mimsy popped into the library for the second time carrying a towering pile of albums. They were so heavy the poor house elf staggered forward, nearly falling over. Narcissa stood quickly, moving away from Draco to meet the house elf, taking the albums from her, dismissing her with a look of annoyance. Mimsy tugged on her large ears uneasily but left with a pop.

Once the house elf had left, Narcissa placed the albums on the table between them, sorting through them until she found the one she wanted. It had a Slytherin green cover opposed to the various blacks, burgundy and blues of the other albums, silver thread woven into the edges and spine. Draco watched in curiosity as his mother handled it with care, lightly stroking the dust off the old tome, her movements slow like her mind was elsewhere. She slowly sat down next to Draco once more, the album still in her hands. She never looked at him, her eyes fixed on the book.

"This one is full of photographs from myself and your Father's time at Hogwarts." His mother explained, a small smile gracing her elegant features.

With careful movements, Narcissa opened the album, flicking through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Then she passed the heavy book to Draco, who frowned at her, silently questioning what he was being shown.

"Who do you think that is, Draco?" His mother asked, pointing at a large photograph that nearly filled the page. Draco turned his gaze to it, frowning at what he saw. The photograph had been taken at Hogwarts, the castle's towers visible in the background, the lake stretching out below. Two boys were in the photograph, arms slung around each other's shoulders, the picture moving with the boys as they laughed and grinned at the person behind the camera. It was clear one of the boys was Lucius when he was younger, his bright hair standing out. Draco didn't recognize the other one.

"Father?" Draco guessed, looking up at her.

"Yes," His mother confirmed, smiling gently. She leaned over, pointing again at the picture. "What about the other boy?"

Draco turned back to the photograph, analysing it again. The other boy had chestnut brown hair that was cut neatly, strands long enough that they hung over his eyes, like Draco's. He wore a Slytherin tie just like Lucius, standing just as tall too, brown eyes lit up with joy. That was when Draco saw the connection.

"Atlas." Draco breathed in disbelief.

"There were friends once, though it's hard to believe." His mother chuckled softly, sending him a sad smile.

"Atlas just said they shared a dorm." Draco commented, frowning down at the picture.

"They did. I suppose that's how it started. Two boys from the most influential families in Europe sharing a dorm room on their first night at Hogwarts. I don't think they immediately got along, but from what I'm told after the first three years they developed a friendship. I doubt either of them realized how inseparable they would become." His mother mused.

"They were close?" Draco questioned, looking up at her. She nodded.

"Like brothers." His mother confirmed. Suddenly her attention was caught by the photographs, gasping in delight as she saw the page Draco had turned to. "Oh, I forgot about this!"

Draco sat in silence as his mother flicked through the album, showing photograph after to photograph. She smiled as she explained each one, but Draco couldn't help but notice a silent sadness in her eyes. His mother eventually took the album from him, turning the pages herself, touching the photographs with a tenderness that only spoke of loss and nostalgia.

Draco listened to her explanations, finding himself looking at the pictures just as intently as she was. A picture of a teacher's office caught Draco's attention, a teacher he didn't recognize standing to the side while the students sat around a table, all from different houses, although the Slytherins seemed to take the majority. Lucius was sat down, staring impassively at the camera, Atlas next to him with an almost identical expression. The description below the photograph read 'The Slug Club, 1969'. Draco mentally noted that down for later.

Another one was of Atlas, his broom slung over his shoulder as he walked away across the Quidditch Pitch, his back to the camera. Draco could see his Quidditch robes clearly, the undeniable print of CHASER written on his back in dazzling silver. In the last moment he turned, flashing the camera a grin, hair soaked from the rain that poured down around him.

"He was the Chaser of the Slytherin team?"

"He was the seeker before that, when he first started. Although he never lost the snitch that I know of, he always claimed that the seeker position wasn't his style. He didn't enjoy it much. In fifth year he tried out for Chaser, and the year after that, he was chosen as the Slytherin Captain. They won the House Cup three years running." She explained, turning the page.

She pointed to a photograph of Atlas in Slytherin Quidditch robes, clutching the Quidditch cup in his hands while the rest of the Slytherin team stood behind him, grins wide on their faces. The Quidditch pitch could be seen in the background, the metal hoops shining in the sunlight. The whole team raised their arms in celebration as Atlas hefted the cup, waving and jumping in ultimate jubilation, before the photograph returned to the beginning of the time loop, the moving image starting again.

Draco spotted his mother in the next picture, sat behind Lucius on a broom as they flew through the air together, the weather brighter. Atlas came into shot, racing past Lucius, shouting what looked like a taunt at his friend as he soared past. His mother laughed and clutched his father's torso tighter as Lucius sped up, flying after Atlas in hot pursuit.

There were many more. Pictures of Atlas and Lucius laughing at the tables in the Great Hall, studying in the Library or sat together in a carriage on the train to Hogwarts, chocolate frogs and Every-Flavour Beans scattered on the seats beside them. Draco noticed a black skinned boy, who he discovered was Tiberus Zabini, was often in the pictures too, mostly sat beside Atlas, laughing and smiling as part of the group.

One made his mother laugh, an image of Atlas and Lucius sprawled out on the Slytherin Common room couches. Both boys looked dishevelled, legs and arms thrown randomly over each other. Atlas seemed to be teetering on the edge of the sofa, and then Lucius shifted in his sleep, effectively pushing Atlas off. The 16-year-old boy let out a cry as he fell, woken abruptly from his slumber. Lucius jolted awake at the sound, before laughing uproariously at the sight of Atlas face-flat on the floor.

"That was a few weeks before our O.W.L.S." his mother explained, "They hadn't revised all year and then they crammed everything in before the exams. They were utterly exhausted. They got excellent marks, of course - the two of them always were brilliant."

Draco saw another picture of his mother and Atlas racing after a snitch over the Quidditch pitch, faces screwed up in concentration. Lucius had never been overly fond of Quidditch. He could fly on a broom perfectly well, but Lucius had never been the Quidditch player type. His mother had been the one to teach him how to fly, and as he watched her speed through the air, he realised she would have made a formidable seeker. However, Draco doubted his mother had ever been on the Quidditch team. It would have been unladylike for a Black daughter.

More photographs of just his mother and father filled the pages as they got older, smiling at the camera at different locations, dancing, talking, walking hand-in-hand and to his dismay – even kissing. His mother laughed at him when he nearly gagged when he saw one picture of his parents, sixth year probably, snogging passionately by the lake. He did not need that mental image.

His mother's sisters sometimes were in the pictures as well, Bellatrix and who he guessed must be Andromeda sitting with his mother in the Slytherin Common room or walking and talking together on the Hogwarts grounds. One picture showed just Atlas and Andromeda, Atlas' arms slung around her shoulder as they grinned at the camera from their seats at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. In another photograph, Atlas even sent the eldest Black sister a wink from across a corridor. His mother seemed to grow quiet at seeing her estranged sister, flickering past them without saying a word. Draco didn't ask.

Each photograph told a story, and as Draco looked at each one, he only became more confused. Atlas and Lucius seemed inseparable, just like his mother had said. In the later years, most likely after his parents had officially become engaged, his mother could be seen more frequently, the duo becoming a trio. What happened? What changed?

"Oh, this is one of my favourites." His mother sighed, smiling down at the photograph she now pointed to. Draco leaned over, already recognizing his parents.

Lucius was in the middle of the frame, a thick black coat and Slytherin scarf protecting him from the cold. A snowy landscape was behind him, buildings and shops covered in a blanket of snow. Draco didn't recognise the location, but with a quick glance at the description underneath the picture, revealed it to be Hogsmeade. In the picture, his mother leaned in, smiling as she gave his father a kiss on the cheek. Out of nowhere Atlas popped into the frame, grinning madly as he gave Lucius a similar, yet definitely sloppier, kiss on the cheek. His mother immediately burst into laughter in the photograph, trying to hold it in with a hand over her mouth. Lucius whirled around to face Atlas, lunging to grab the other boy, anger clear on his features. Atlas laughed as he dodged out of the way, disappearing from the frame. Then the loop started again.

"Atlas could be a sensible and responsible boy, but when he was around Lucius he was a lot more relaxed. I think he only ever let his guard down around Lucius and Ty, could only be himself when around him. The two of them had experienced too much together. Of course, that resulted in some very ridiculous situations and eventful interactions." His mother explained, a fond smile on her face.

"I can't believe Atlas would dare to do that." Draco breathed, grin wide in disbelief.

"Atlas was fearless. Or at the very least, pretended to be. Lucius teased him a lot, proclaiming Atlas would have been better in Gryffindor. It couldn't be true, of course. Atlas was even more cunning than your father and had a charm that got him anything he wanted. People underestimated him."

"All this is very well, Mother, but I don't understand how it answers my question. In these pictures Atlas and Father… they seem inseparable. Friends. Slytherins don't have friends – we have allies."

"Did your Father say that?" She asked him, Draco not responding. His silence was enough of an answer. "I thought so." She nodded, closing the album and placing it on the table in front of her. She stared straight ahead as Draco watched her.

"You're right, of course. It doesn't make sense. If you had seen them back then, if you had watched them interact… You would never imagined it could have come to this. But it was a long time ago and things just…" His mother sighed, for the first time not being able to find the right words. "Things just changed. Our whole world changed."

She turned to look at Draco, a broken smile on her face that made her look older than she was. She took hold of his hands, avoiding his eyes entirely. "In the end, Atlas and your Father were too different. It never mattered at school – why would it? We were only children. They ignored their differences in order to get along. When your Father joined the Death Eaters… everything began to fall apart."

"What happened?" Draco asked tentatively.

Narcissa swallowed, her resolve clearly breaking. "Like I said. Everything fell apart." She paused as she took a deep, rattling breath. "The Ambrosius family decided to become neutral in the war. Not that it made much difference." She finished, voice bitter.

"Mum. Tell me." Draco pleaded, resting a hand on his mother's shoulder. "What happened?"

His mother finally looked him in the eye and for the first time Draco realised there were tears glistening there, refusing to fall. Then she began to speak.

* * *

Draco stormed through the manor, running through the halls and corridors, his face twisted with rage. Once he reached his father's study, he crashed into the doors, his supernatural strength sending them smashing into the wall as he entered. Lucius whirled round where he had been stood by the window, firewhiskey in hand, and Draco felt a feeling of triumph as he saw his father's sunken eyes widen in shock and most importantly, _fear_.

The state his father was in certainly helped too. Draco had never seen him so dishevelled, hair unkempt and chin covered in a fine layer of stubble, as if the man had neither washed nor shaved in several days. His robes were wrinkled too, a clear sign he had slept in them. Probably in this very room, judging from the amount of empty bottles and trays of half eaten food that littered the tables. No wonder his mother hadn't spoken until now. Lucius must have never returned to their private wing.

"DRACO! What in Merlin's name are you do-" Lucius started, but didn't finish. Draco's dragon eyes flashed as he stalked over to his father, glaring up at him with all his might.

"I thought I could live with you, I thought I could forgive you, trust you for never telling me what I was!" Draco yelled furiously. "Apart of me understood why you hated him too, Atlas certainly does make it easy sometimes. But it was never him was it? It was always _you_." He spat.

Draco fumed silently as he watched his father's eyes narrow, his arrogant features curling into a snarl as if Draco was beneath him. How dare he. How dare he act as if he was right, as if he had _any_ right.

"We are not talking about _him_ ever again. And don't you dare raise your voice in front of me Draco or I will-."

"You'll what?" Draco interrupted again, outraged. "Forbid me from seeing my father again? Oh wait, you've already done that. Maybe you'll cut me off the family tree but oh wait, I'm not a Malfoy anyway!" Draco roared.

"Tread very carefully, boy." Lucius ground out, but his glare had no effect on Draco.

"No, it's you who should tread more carefully, _father_." Draco clearly threatened, Dragon canines jutting over his lips. It made Lucius pause, but not in a fearful way. Or at least he didn't show it. No, Lucius eyed Draco, deep in thought. He sneered when he came to the inevitable wrong conclusion.

"You went to see him, didn't you? What has he blamed me for this time? The Apocalypse?" Lucius jeered.

"Nothing. It was mother who explained everything."

"Explained what?" Lucius snarled.

"How you joined the Death Eaters and Atlas didn't follow!" Draco yelled in retaliation, pointing a finger at his father's chest. "At least not at first. His parents wanted to remain neutral in the war."

"Because they were mudblood and muggle lovers, Draco."

"NO! They just didn't want to be involved with - with any of it!" Draco stuttered, overcome with rage. "And although Atlas was loyal to his family above all else, he was prepared to disobey them, to leave them so he could join you. So he could stand by _you_."

Lucius swallowed, turning away from Draco. This only fuelled Draco's rage even more.

"He didn't believe in the cause or-or in any of it - but he wasn't stupid." Draco continued. "The Dark Lord would make a dangerous enemy but an even more powerful ally. And not only would be able to stay by your side, he thought that maybe he could make the muggles pay for what they did to our kind."

"Draco-" Lucius sighed, Draco ignoring the unusual emotion in his adoptive father's voice.

"But the Dark Lord had already made plans. He never wanted the Ambrosius family on his side. They were too powerful. They were competition, right? They were a _threat_. So the Dark Lord wanted them dead." Draco's voice broke, catching in his throat before he swallowed, carrying on. "You were both friends with Zabini. He knew that. So he demanded Zabini to reveal how to get past the Ambrosius wards. He refused."

" _Draco_ -" Lucius tried to interrupt again, voice stronger this time, but Draco ignored him.

"He remained loyal to Atlas. And the Dark Lord killed him for it. Tortured him while you stood and _watched_." Draco spat.

"DRACO-"

"BUT THAT'S NOT THE WORST PART, IS IT?" Draco yelled over Lucius. "When the Dark Lord turned to you, ordered you to hand over the information you gave in. You made Zabini's sacrifice pointless because you gave the information to the Dark Lord _anyway_."

Draco panted, his expression showing his disgust.

"I had no choice." Lucius whispered. When he saw the way Draco's expression changed, the anger returned to his features. "No – you listen to me, Draco. He would have killed your mother and then he would have killed me. After that, the Dark Lord would have found another way to kill Atlas. I had no choice. I did what I did to survive: To protect your mother, even protect Atlas."

"Protect Atlas?" Draco echoed in fury. "HIS PARENTS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"AND HE IS ALIVE BECAUSE OF ME!" Lucius yelled back, slamming the bottle he was holding onto the desk. The glass shattered and Lucius cursed as the shards pierced his skin. The energy in the room seemed to evaporate, silencing Draco. Wincing, Lucius cradled his hand and sank into his chair, shoulders sinking in defeat. Hands shaking, Lucius sighed and when he looked up at Draco, his eyes were tired. "When I realised what the Dark Lord was planning I stalled for time. I was supposed to be meeting Atlas that day, he wanted to join me, like you said. When I didn't show up because the Dark Lord was-" Lucius' voice cracked, his body shuddering. "Instead of going home, Atlas came looking for me, knowing something was wrong. He found me in the same place the Dark Lord had left me. By the time we arrived at Ambrosius Manor…we were too late."

"His parents were dead." Draco stated. Lucius closed his eyes.

"Yes. But Atlas was alive." Lucius released a shaky breath. "Before we found the bodies… Most of the Death Eaters were still there looking for Atlas, actually. Instead of killing them, I convinced him to immobilise them, so we could obliviate them and replace their memories with fake ones. Make them believe they had killed Atlas so the Dark Lord would think he was dead. Then he could be free, he could run and never look back."

"But Atlas was never one to run. When he found his parents, he killed two of the Death Eaters, people we had known at Hogwarts. He released the other three, let them run after we had obliterated them, thinking they had been victorious. Told me the deaths would make it look more real." Lucius paused, staring blankly out the window. "The look in his eyes… I will never forget it. I didn't even recognise him. Atlas had always been the voice of reason, reckless in a harmless way at times, but always reasonable. He was like his father in that aspect. But that night… He just wanted to watch the world burn."

Draco looked up, staring at his Lucius' expression. He swallowed nervously when he recognised the haunted look on the elder wizard's face. Fear. Draco had never seen his father afraid, he didn't even think he got scared. But Lucius was clearly afraid of Atlas, perhaps – and this was what made Draco's chest clench in terrified dread – more afraid of Atlas than he was of the Dark Lord.

"When he found out how Ty died, how the Dark Lord knew how to get past the wards…" Lucius laughed, a bitter sound, looking at Draco sadly. "He tried to kill me. I was trying to save him and he tried to _kill_ me."

Draco licked his lips, suddenly feeling cold. He walked backwards until he hit an armchair, and fell lightly onto it. "How did you…"

"Survive?" Lucius finished for him. Draco winced. "Atlas stopped at the last second. Dragged me back here and threw me through the gates. Told me if he ever saw me again he wouldn't hesitate next time." Lucius answered, his tone like ice, before he turned to Draco, looking him in the eye. "I know you think I deserve it. Maybe I did. Maybe I deserve worse. After that night, I acted like it never happened. Worked day and night to get into the Dark Lord's good graces. When Atlas revealed he was alive, I worked very hard to help the Dark Lord kill him."

"You didn't tell him that Atlas was a Dragonborn, did you?"

"No. I didn't." Lucius laughed lightly, but it was sardonic in nature. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Draco asked, brows furrowed.

"Unbreakable Vow." Lucius answered, sending Draco a meaningful glance. He understood immediately.

"If you both hated each other why did you seek him out for help?" Draco asked quietly.

"Because he was the closest thing I had to a brother and even though I hated him, I didn't want him dead. He had been my only friend. When I lost him, I was alone, surrounded by people who would stab me in the back to survive. I chose the devil I knew, rather than the devils around me."

"Even if he wanted to kill you?"

"Without an heir, I was as good as dead anyway." Lucius stated tiredly.

Draco swallowed, suddenly looking very sick. "I have to get out of here." He said, standing up.

"Draco-" Lucius made to place a hand on his shoulder, but Draco flinched away.

"No!" Draco yelled, before lowering his voice, regaining the last remains of his composure. "Just, stay away."

"Draco!" Lucius called after him as he left the study. Draco ignored him. "DRACO!"

Draco ran through the manor, sprinting out onto the grounds. His eyes shifted, the fire burned and his wings grew, and with one finally leap, Draco flew away. Away from Lucius. Away from his mother. Away from home.


	12. Broken Bond

**AN: Now then, this is one hell of a chapter - over 7,000 words. I might need to edit it a bit later cause some parts are shaky in places (and seriously, this was probably the hardest chapter to write, I've spent weeks procrastinating over it and I'm still not entirely happy). Again, feel free to hate the characters. Or love them. I just hope, you can all - no matter your opinions - understand them. That's my main goal. Would love to see your reviews, but again, thank you to anyone who has favourited or followed this story already. Thank you for your support!**

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CHAPTER 12

Broken Bond

" _What do you mean he's_ _gone_?" Narcissa hissed from across the dinner table.

Lucius began to cut up his chicken ruthlessly, his silver knife scraping across the expensive china plate, filling the air with a piercing screech. "He left. He shifted and flew away."

" _What did you do?_ " Narcissa demanded.

"What did _I_ do?" Lucius snapped, letting his cutlery fall onto the table with a loud clang. He glared at his wife from across the table, his lips curling into a snarl. "What did _you_ do? You told him-"

"He needed to know."

" _Needed to know?"_ Lucius exclaimed incredulously _._ "He's thirteen, Narcissa, he didn't _need_ to know anything-"

"I NEEDED HIM TO KNOW!" Narcissa shouted, drowning out her husband's voice. Tears were finally falling down her cheeks, her eyes red from crying. She seemed to deflate after her outburst, years of worry and stress marring her features with exhaustion. She sniffed and a part of Lucius' heart broke at the sight. "I'm tired, Lucius. Tired of lying for years to my own son. We need to move on. All of us."

"We agreed to tell him at the right time, Cissa." Lucius quietly pointed out. Narcissa finally met his gaze, her smile bitter.

"For you, there never was a right time."

Lucius sighed, picking his cutlery up and returning to his meal. "What do you expect me to do? Draco could be anywhere by now."

"If you can't find Draco, then surely Atlas can?" Narcissa tentatively suggested.

"No." Lucius shook his head, eyes flaring with warning as he waved his fork to exaggerate his point. "I'm not asking him for help. Not again."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed in barely concealed rage. "Are you seriously still angry at him, Lucius? I don't understand why you hate him so much. Even if his-"Narcissa paused, lips curling slightly in disgust. "-his _beliefs_ are different to ours, as Draco's father he still has a right-"

Throughout his wife's speech Lucius' body had increasingly become more tense, jaw clenching and eyes closing in emotional agony. The mention of Atlas' relation to Draco seemed to be the last straw, the guilt and hate overwhelming him and Lucius snapped.

"I killed Tiberus." He interrupted abruptly.

Narcissa froze, eyes widening. It was only then she noticed the pain in her husband's face, the way his expression had crumpled completely. Placing her own cutlery down, Narcissa swallowed, never tearing her eyes away from her husband, who refused to meet her gaze.

"Ty wasn't the only one who refused giving the Dark Lord information." Lucius continued. "I did too, in the beginning. We both did. You know all three of us had taken vows to never reveal information, so the Dark couldn't use the Imperius to get us to talk. The vow would kill us before we told him everything he needed to know so he let the other Death Eaters torture the information out of us instead."

"Lucius…" She tried, but Lucuis' eyes had grown distant, his voice hollow.

"I didn't break. Neither did Ty. I refused to offer them that satisfaction. Then the Dark Lord changed tactics." Lucius grew silent, reaching for his drink with a shaking hand. Narcissa caught it, preventing him from drinking the alcohol.

"Lucius." She called softly. "What happened?"

Lucius stayed silent for a long time, and when he did finally speak, his voice cracked in the middle. "He made me use the Cruciatus curse on Ty. I couldn't refuse. His Imperio was too strong."

Narcissa gasped, her hand recoiling from Lucius for a second, before it returned, squeezing his hand tighter than ever. "Oh, Lucius…"

"He offered me a choice when he released me from his control. Tell him how to get past the Ambrosius wards, or he would force me to kill Ty." Lucius continued, his words spat out quickly, as if the dam had finally broken. "Tiberus told me it was okay, that he didn't blame me. He told me to do it, to kill him. But I… I couldn't do it. I _wouldn't_ do it. I was a coward." Narcissa opened her mouth to speak but Lucius tore his hand away, his head falling into his hands, elbows propped up on the table. "I told the Dark Lord everything I knew. The wards, the house magic… all of it. And then the Dark Lord killed Ty anyway. Killed him while he still looked at me with betrayal in his eyes."

The last sentence was whispered so quietly that Narcissa barely heard it. Lucius refused to look at her, raising his head as he took a shaky deep breath.

"You want to know why I hate Atlas so much?" Lucius asked, his expression turning ugly as hate and anger crossed his features. "I hate him because he never came. He never saved us. It was because of _him_ that the Dark Lord turned on us - it's his fault that Ty is dead and I had to listen to him screaming with no control over my own body, knowing it was me who was causing him pain. It's _his_ fault that I was forced to make a decision where I had no choice. It's _his_ fault I killed Ty." He snarled.

"Lucius, you didn't kill Ty." Narcissa whispered.

Lucius shook his head, eyes closed. "Ty is dead because of me."

"No, he isn't. Ty chose to serve the Dark Lord before you even considered it. Ty is dead because of his own choices, not yours. Lucius, look at me." Upon hearing her stern tone, Lucius looked up and met her gaze. She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "It's not his fault. And it's not yours either."

Lucius swallowed. "Atlas will never forgive me."

"Oh, my dear, you'll find he already has. Do you want to know why?" She asked, a small smile gracing her face. "He never blamed you, not really. Atlas blames himself. You both do."

"And Draco?"

"He'll understand. Just give him time." She reassured. "Go see Atlas, Lucius. Talk to him for once and don't fight him. _Please_. You need to find Draco."

Lucius sighed, gently taking his wife's small hand in his larger one, raising it up so he could gently place a kiss upon her knuckles. "As my lady commands."

* * *

Lucius stared up at Ambrosius Manor, the position of the quickly falling sun casting the grand building in shadows. He never thought he would return to this place. Unlike the last time he had been here, the house seemed to have undergone repairs and light shone from inside the windows, no longer looking like a ghostly shell of the place he once knew. However, even if life had returned to the Manor House, there was still an eerie feeling about the place, and it wasn't just because of the person who lived there. Maybe it was the screams of the Death Eaters - classmates, housemates, friends - that Lucius could still hear if he let his mind wander too far, a phantom echo of that night. The birds remembered them too, to afraid to sing, making the estate unnaturally silent. Or maybe it was the shadows that twisted and curled, reminding him of the horrors he still saw playing out in front of him when he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Lucius prepared himself to knock, but was stopped by the sound of a low growl coming from behind him.

 _You shouldn't be here, wizard._ The foreign voice inside his head growled, spitting 'wizard' out like it was an insult.

Lucius spun, wand raised, only to find a pair of feline eyes fixed on him, the body of the creature shrouded in the darkness. Slowly, the large predator stalked forwards, revealing a spotted white and grey fur coat and a powerful body. It was cat, a very large one - the size of a panther, though it's coat made it look more like a snow leopard. The only difference was it had six legs and had large canines protruding over its lips, features only shared with Wampus cats.

"Klaus." Lucius whispered in recognition. The creature snarled.

 _The wizard remembers me. Good. You'll know then that I won't hesitate to rip your throat out with my teeth if you don't leave the property immediately._

"I need to speak with Atlas." Lucius hastily explained.

 _He doesn't want to speak with you. Now leave_.

Lucius tried not to gulp too audibly. "No."

 _Do you have a death wish, wizard?_ Klaus snarled, stepping forward. Lucius couldn't help but scramble backward in fear. _Because I assure you, if that is the case it can be arranged._

"It's Draco. I came to see Atlas to speak to him about Draco." Lucius explained in a rush.

 _From what I've heard, you've already spoken your thoughts on Atlas' parenting methods._ From his tone, Lucius knew Klaus would have raised the feline equivalent of an eyebrow if he could.

"That is irrelevant in this circumstance."

 _How so?_

"Draco's missing." Lucius stated bluntly. The large cat observed him, eyes narrowing. His tail swayed behind him, flicking to and thro, and Lucius hated the calculating look behind Klaus' feline eyes. The tension was downright terrifying.

 _Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you, wizard._ Klaus eventually decided, still staring at Lucius with that burning gaze of his. "Follow me."

The large cat passed him, even his footsteps silent as he moved towards the doors, which opened magically to allow the daemon to enter the grand Manor. Lucius pulled his silk handkerchief from his pocket, shaking it before using it to wipe the sweat from his brow as he took a moment to gather himself. Keeping a wary eye on Klaus, Lucius followed, taking in how the interior of the house had changed. Gone was the fallen crystal chandelier and rubble, the wooden panel floors now polished and repaired. However, Lucius noticed the replacement chandelier was covered over with a white sheet, and as he managed to peak through the open doors of the other rooms, the furniture inside seemed to also share the same treatment. The Manor had certainly been repaired and cleaned up, but it didn't look like someone had lived it for years. It felt more like a closed museum rather than a home.

 _I will find Atlas for you. Wait here._ Klaus ordered. Lucius nodded in acceptance, still glancing around in interest. However, he soon turned his attention back to Klaus when the daemon readied himself to pounce into the air and his feline eyes turned completely black, no iris or white anywhere. Then he leapt into the air and the feline body shrank, fur morphing to feathers, paws to scaly taloned feet and snout to a sharp, black beak. Suddenly it wasn't a Wampus cat prowling across the floors, but a great harpy eagle flying up to the second floor, its giant wingspan easily carrying its body through the air. Its white, dark grey and black plumage looked equally as majestic as its previous leopard print fur, its talons just as deadly, and Lucius couldn't help but stare as Klaus let out a shriek, banking round the corner and disappearing into the Manor.

A hint of jealousy clawed at Lucius' chest. He had forgotten how much he had envied Atlas for having a daemon as a familiar. The wizarding world didn't even know the shapeshifters even existed, mostly because not only were they just as rare as phoenixes, but they were also just as annoyingly picky about who they bestowed their loyalty to. The fact they could take the form of any creature they desired, relative to their size, also didn't make them easy to find if they didn't want to be found. Lucius had been offended at how callously Klaus had treated him when he first met the daemon, and it seemed like things hadn't changed - Klaus had made his disdain towards wizards quite clear. No wonder the creatures were known as the familiars of Dragonborns. Not only did shapeshifters seem to band together, sharing a kindred of sorts, but they shared the attitude and flare for the dramatic too.

Bloody daemons.

Lucius glanced to the room he had talked to Atlas in, all those years ago. There was firewhiskey and alcohol inside that room, something Lucius was craving, especially if he had to deal with Atlas. Eyeing the second floor where Klaus had disappeared, as if expecting the daemon to reappear shouting threats and reprimands, Lucius silently crept across the floor, wincing when the door creaked as he opened it. He paused, waiting for the daemon to reappear. Silence. Lucius sighed in relief and stepped into the room. The furniture, like everywhere else, was covered by sheets, making it look emptier than it actually was. Lucius swallowed when he noticed the bare wall above the fireplace, a large square mark there where the portrait of Lord Ambrosius used hang. Atlas must have taken it down. The conclusion only made Lucius feel more uneasy.

Ignoring the barren wall as best he could, Lucius pulled the sheets off the cabinets and began searching for the whiskey, intent on drowning his thoughts. He had finally located the illusive bottle, leaning down to pull it out of the cabinet, when Atlas' cold voice sounded behind him.

"When Klaus informed me you had arrived to speak with me, he neglected to mention you had come to raid my alcohol collection."

Lucius swore, banging his head on the roof of the cabinet in his shock. Retreating quickly, Lucius whirled to face the Dragonborn, who to the wizard's increased surprise, wasn't looking at him in barely concealed amusement but was glaring at him murderously. The difference unnerved him, so used to his old friend's moods. Lucius tried to hide his fear. "Atlas-"

"No, no, Lucius." Atlas interrupted before Lucius could speak, walking forward. "Do explain why you are here. I really am looking forward to what you want to talk about."

Lucius faltered, wetting his lips before he spoke. "Draco is missing."

"Of course he is." Atlas chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. "I guess you came here hoping I could find him for you? How pathetically predictable."

"You're his father, remember?" Lucius ground out, trying not to react to the Dragonborn's jibes.

Atlas returned his attention to the wizard, glaring. "According to you I'm not."

"So you'd put your pride before Draco?"

"No. I wouldn't. I'm not _you_." Atlas sneered, making Lucius recoil as if physically hit. "Which is why I understand you used the term 'missing' quite loosely, because he's not missing is he? He left. Specifically, I'm guessing he left _you_."

Lucius paused before he spoke, the point hitting its mark. "We need to find him."

"We? Since when was there a we? I'm done cleaning up your messes Lucius."

"He's your son!" Lucius exclaimed, half outraged, half desperate.

"And as we've already established, he's not my son, according to your definition of fatherhood which doesn't exactly give me any right, now does it?"

"You act like I manipulated you into giving me your son." Lucius muttered.

Atlas only glared at him harder. "You _did_." He ground out.

"Is that so?" Lucius stared at Atlas incredulously, his tone turning mocking. "Atlas Ambrosius, the most cunning and deceitful snake of them all, manipulated by little old _me_? Somehow I don't believe you." Lucius sneered, storming towards him. "I'm not blind, Ambrosius. I was desperate that night. You lured me in by refusing to be easily swayed, feigning how it was a proposition that was unthinkable to agree to. But you planted the idea, planted that spark of hope. And then you managed to get me to beg you for it, made me convince _you_ to agree when we both know you had already decided your answer as soon as the plan formed in your mind."

"Is there a point somewhere in there, Malfoy?" Atlas ground out, eyes narrowed dangerously in warning.

"My _point_ is, you may make me out as the villain in this story, but we both know who truly deserves that title. I don't know what you needed Draco for, and I certainly don't understand why you needed to hide him among wizards, but no matter my faults at least I can say my intentions for him were completely pure. But you can't say the same can you?"

Atlas seemed to pause, swallowing uneasily, and Lucius knew he had hit a nerve. "Things have changed. _I've_ changed since then."

"Have you?" Lucius challenged, a cruel smile forming on his face. "So Karkus Grunnion, the Death Eater released from Azkaban a month ago that mysteriously disappeared within a week of his release without a trace? Disappearing, might I add, around the same time you left the Manor to take care of some business. That wasn't you?" The grin on Lucius' face widened when he saw Atlas clench his jaw, hatred flaring in his eyes as he struggled to maintain control. "Because I could have sworn he was the Death Eater that was tasked with watching this property, the one that informed the Dark Lord that your parents were at home. The Death Eater you hunted throughout the wizarding war, but always slipped through your fingers?"

Atlas looked away, walking over to take the bottle from Lucius' hands and pour himself a drink, back facing the wizard. "He was a crafty little bugger, Malfoy, you know that. He probably gave the Ministry the slip as soon as he got out."

"So he isn't dead then, lying burnt and disfigured in some ditch?" Atlas' shoulders tensed as Lucius spoke. "Or maybe you strung his burnt corpse up, like that time at the Ministry, when you strung up the two Death Eaters we let go that night for all the world to see, your burning house emblem marring the marble floors as a very clear message. That always was more you style wasn't it - sending a _message_." Lucius spat out. In a blur, Atlas had whirled round and grabbed Lucius by the throat. Snarling, he lifted the wizard up, dragon eyes blazing, and threw him across the room, sending him crashing into the unlit fireplace. The wizard fell to the ground, barely stopping himself from crying out.

Watching silently as Lucius grimaced, whose hands holding his side where his ribs had cracked upon impact with the stone mantle, Atlas reached behind him and picked up his drink, drowning the beverage in one fell swoop. As Lucius tried and failed to stand, Atlas placed the crystal decanter down once more and stalked towards the wizard, leaning down and pulling him up by his robes. Lucius barely had time to yelp before Atlas had him pinned against the fireplace, the sharp edge of the mantle digging painfully into his spine.

"You want to talk about the people I've killed, Malfoy? The Death Eaters I tortured? Better yet, shall I give you a demonstration?" He growled, dragon eyes gleaming. Their faces were inches apart now, those eyes more inhuman and dangerous than ever. Even so, somehow Lucius' hatred outweighed his fear.

"By all means do." Lucius spat.

"Oh, I'd love to." Atlas smiled cruelly, making hatred and anger for the Dragonborn rear up in Lucius' chest.

"Well, go on then!" The wizard dared, voice rising. "KILL ME! FINISH IT!"

"NO!" Atlas screamed back. The ferocity of his defiance made Lucius freeze in shock. Atlas' shoulders deflated as his tight grip on Lucius robes slackened.

"Why?" Lucius asked quietly, perplexed.

"Because you're my friend. You're my _brother_ , Lucius." Atlas whispered in a small voice. "And you're right." Atlas gave Lucius a final, half-hearted shove before moving back, allowing Lucius space. It only seemed to utterly shock Lucius even more.

"I'm right?"

"About Draco. About... Grunnion." Atlas clarified. A defeated expression had replaced his enraged features, and Lucius couldn't help but think how broken the man now looked. "During the war I... I was lost. When everything you have and love is taken away from you, so savagely, all you can think about is anger, hatred and revenge. And no one can save you. No one could save _me_." Atlas' voice cracked as shame coiled inside his gut. "Draco... I never intended to survive the war. I didn't _want_ to survive it. When you found me that night, offered an opportunity for me to produce an heir, it was my way of winning, even if I lost. A Dragonborn's magic, ancestral magic, is passed from father to son upon the father's death."

"You intended Draco to replace you. You saw him as a weapon." Lucius realised.

Atlas nodded. "A weapon I could hide in plain sight, thanks to you." He muttered. Lucius felt his features hard, anger threatening to swallow him on Draco's behalf. But the Dragonborn's emotional voice gave him pause. "Voldermort... There was much more going on during the war, more than you know Lucius, things I can't share but..."

"But?" Lucius prompted.

"I was blinded by rage and pain. I saw Draco as a weapon I could use later, an insurance policy of sorts, in the event I was killed. I even... I-I even considered ending it myself, more than once." Lucius' eyes widened at Atlas admission. The Dragonborn himself refused to meet the wizard's eyes. "But then, Cissa started sending me letters, sometimes with photographs attached. Once a month, at first, writing about Draco." Atlas took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "She told me about his first steps, the first time he used magic, him growing up. Even that debacle with the strawberries and yogurt." Atlas added, managing a choked laugh.

"You mean the time when-"

"When you tried to entertain your one-year-old son by levitating his food in the air, only to realise the stupidity of your mistake when Draco tried to copy you, resulting in the walls and floors splattered with yogurt and strawberries, not to mention the state of _your_ hair."

"If I remember rightly, Draco found my appearance amusing enough." Lucius commented dryly. Atlas smirked.

"So did I. Cissa sent me a picture."

Lucius scowled. "Traitor."

Atlas laughed, a free sound that made Lucius smile slightly, before both their expressions fell once more. "What I'm trying to say Lucius is... During the war, I had nothing left to lose. But I have something to lose now. Draco... being his father gave me back a part of myself I thought I had lost forever. And I couldn't mess that up, I couldn't lose him too."

"So you left. You moved abroad." Lucius concluded, the puzzle pieces falling into place. He had always wondered why Atlas hadn't stayed in Britain. After the war had ended, he had discreetly helped Lucius escape Azkaban, for Draco and Narcissa's sake no doubt, before leaving the country. Lucius had heard from his sources that Atlas had settled in Europe, though he suspected he had actually returned to the Dragon World.

Atlas shrugged in response. "Everything I touch dies. If former Death Eaters had seen me interacting with you..." Atlas trailed off, shaking his head. Lucius understood. The outcome of that situation didn't sit well with him either. "Distance...keeping my distance felt like the only option I had. Plus, once the Ministry had dealt with all the Death Eaters, I knew it wouldn't be long until they came for me, since as you know, what I did during the war wasn't exactly by the book, even if I was fighting on their side."

Lucius swallowed as guilt hit him when realisation dawned. "You were protecting him."

"Yes. From me especially. I needed to get better first, before I met him. And I knew I had a few years before he needed me, so I left. I didn't view him as a weapon, I will never use him like that, Lucius, you have to understand, I can't...I-I"

"You can't lose him. I know." Lucius finished for him. Somehow, Atlas' shoulders sunk even lower.

"I didn't mean to try and take him from you. If you felt I was turning him against you, that wasn't my intention. I just, I don't want him to end up like us. I don't want his light corrupted like ours was."

"And Grunnion?" Lucius prompted. Atlas sighed, running a hand through his hair. He turned, moved to lean against the wall before letting his body slide down it. He sat down, legs bent, curled inwards.

"What I did to Karkus Grunnion, despite Draco, was further proof to spur my determination to teach him to be better. Better than me, better than the both of us. We can't change the fact we're monsters, but we can change what Draco becomes."

"Atlas, you're not…"Lucius started, perhaps to protest that he wasn't as bad as the Dragonborn thought himself to be. But words seemed to fail him and Lucius clamped his mouth shut. He sighed. He couldn't disagree. Atlas wasn't wrong, after all. He sighed himself, moving to join him on the floor, a hand holding his cracked ribs. "Atlas, I'm going to say something I don't think I've said to anyone." Lucius began again, grabbing the Dragonborn's attention as he let the wall behind him support his weight. He locked his gaze with Atlas and when he spoke, his voice broke in the middle. "I'm sorry."

The weight of those two words filled the room. They both knew it wasn't just an apology for his earlier actions, but for everything. For that fateful night, for Ty, his parents, for his treatment of Draco. Atlas sighed, looking away to stare up at the ceiling. He was silent for a long time.

"I'm sorry too."

Some copy of a crumpled smile crossed Lucius' lips. Atlas met his eyes, a similar smile touching his face briefly. Their friendship had long since been destroyed but there was still something, something intangible, something that couldn't be expressed bleeding out from the cracks in their broken bond. Somehow, there was still hope.

"What a pair are we?" Lucius joked after a while, Atlas shaking his head in response, hiding a broader smile. "We weren't like this in school were we? Did you try to kill me then?"

"If I remember correctly, I saved your ass far more times that I tried to kill you."

"What about that time in seventh year? When I insulted your sword?" Lucius suggested.

Atlas rolled his eyes. "It's not a sword, they're called Blades. They're made from obsidian. How many swords have you seen made from obsidian?"

"None. Though that's probably because people don't need swords any more. We have _magic_."

"Still not a sword you dickhead." Atlas muttered and they both chuckled, exchanging a glance before both turning their gazes to the floor.

"I never thanked you, Atlas." Lucius broke the silence with, after a while.

"For what?"

"For being there. For saving my ass, as you so eloquently put it." Lucius tried to smile, but it came out crooked. The joking tone in his voice wasn't very convincing either. His expression fell. "I tried to save you too. I tried, I promise you I did."

Atlas licked his dry lips, looking down at his feet. "I know."

"Are you going to take Draco? With you to the Dragon World?" Lucius asked, watching Atlas. The Dragonborn flinched, jolting to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Atlas. You spent the last thirteen years abroad, waiting for Draco to grow up so you could come back. He's your son, not mine. I'll only get in the way."

"Lucius, for once in your life, don't act like a high and all-mighty prick." Atlas exclaimed, though there wasn't any cruel bite to it. He shook his head, ignoring Lucius' glare. "Us Dragonborns, we value family. Not just blood or our kin. Our _people_ \- our community. Every woman, man and child is a brother, a sister, a daughter or a son. Despite what you may think, you are Draco's father. And once upon a time, you were my brother. I'm not going anywhere. As long as Draco is your son, I will stand by his side and as a result, by yours."

"Draco hates me."

"You're his father. He can't hate you. Not completely." Atlas argued firmly. Lucius shook his head in denial.

"I hated my father. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you even admitted you hated yours." He pointed out.

"We were born with our fathers. Draco chose _you_." Atlas heaved himself to his feet, walking over to Lucius and offering him his hand. "Now stop acting like an obnoxious asshole and get up."

Lucius looked up at Atlas, his eyes darting to the hand held out for him. His shoulders seemed to straighten, the usual pride returning to his form.

"I can't argue with that." He drawled, clasping Atlas' hand in his. The Dragonborn smiled in response, pulling Lucius to his feet, who staggered before he regained his balance, wincing as he kept a firm grip on his broken ribs. "Don't suppose you can heal this can you?" Lucius asked, gesturing to his side.

"What, these ribs?" Flashing a smile, Atlas jabbed Lucius in his ribs, causing the wizard to his hiss through his teeth as he bit down on the pain. "Not a chance, Malfoy."

"I hate you." Lucius ground out, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"I hate you too." Atlas replied. Grinning, he gave Lucius one last pat on the shoulder before tugging him forward, directing him out of Ambrosius Manor. "Now, let's find our son."

* * *

It took them hours to find Draco.

Despite having come to a mutual agreement, the frequency of their arguments hadn't changed and they'd spent most of the time angrily debating the most likely places Draco could have disappeared to, a debate that included some rather cutting insults as it progressed. It was Klaus that broke them apart, in the form of a huge grey wolf this time, threatening to tear them both apart if they didn't shut up and let him get back to his beauty sleep.

Atlas hadn't been impressed by the daemon's outburst and to Lucius' dismay, the Dragonborn rather pettily forced his familiar to accompany them on their mission to find Draco. The amount of family cottages and hunting cabins they had searched listening to the daemon's incessant mutterings slowly began to drive Lucius insane, and he was quite thankful when they split up, Atlas ordering Klaus to scout ahead for any sign of Draco while they started to visit places that Draco had showed interest in before. When Atlas tried to finally reach out mentally to the boy, he was blocked out, but not before the Dragonborn got a glimpse of tall cliffs, cascading waves and slippery rocks. Draco was near the sea. Acting quickly, Atlas grabbed Lucius' arm, side-apparating them together to the coastline closest to the Manor. Draco wouldn't wouldn't have travelled far from home.

Klaus emerged from the shadows of a large oak tree, as if he was made of mist, solidifying into his eagle form - the black abyss that were his eyes the last to solidify. It was the daemon equivalent of apparation. Atlas instantly ordered him to fly overhead and find the boy, and not an hour later, Klaus returned triumphant. Which brought them here, finally finding Draco near the coastal cliffs after following Klaus, the boy instantly moving to run as soon as he saw them.

"DRACO! Wait!" Atlas called after him.

"I'm not going back there!"

"Draco, you are coming back with us whether you like it or not-" Lucius ordered, but Draco whirled around, eyes a blaze.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! NO FUCKING RIGHT!" Draco roared. The fury in his eyes seemed to wither afterwards, expression breaking as his voice lowered to a whisper. "You have no right to stand there and demand I go back. Not after what you did."

"Draco-" Atlas tried, taking over as Lucius visibly shrunk backwards at Draco's words. The boy himself snarled, whirling on Atlas as soon as he spoke.

"Don't you dare defend him. Don't you _dare_. He betrayed you. Your parents – my grandparents – are dead because of him." Draco's voice cracked as his lips curled in disgust, pointing a finger at Lucius. "It's like you don't even care."

"I do care. More than you realise."

"Then how can you even look at him?"

"Because it was never his fault. It was mine." "You think war is glorious, Draco? Do you think it was an honour to become a Death Eater? We did. We relished in the idea of it. My father abhorred it, claiming Riddle's work to be a black stain on magic itself. I didn't agree, I thought we could use Riddle to restore balance, finally cull the constantly growing population of humanity. I even intended to take the Dark Mark the same day as Ty." "But something in me clicked that day. I suddenly… saw everything clearly, Riddle most of all. I understood what my father meant. The magic Riddle was using… it was horribly wrong and so twisted, so dark, that it was corrupting the very air around it.""The Ambrosius line doesn't just have magic, Draco. We _are_ magic. And my very soul screamed whenever Riddle drew near. I knew then he would not restore balance, but would destroy magic itself in his quest for power."

"I refused to join him, I made the first move, I provoked him. I intended to warn Lucius that day, get him out. Ty did not agree with me, I suspect he was blinded by his need for revenge. Muggles had killed his parents, or at least that's what we were told. Now I suspect it may have been Riddle's doing all along."

"It was my fault Riddle turned against Lucius and Ty, my fault they were tortured for information. And yet, when Ty and my parents were killed, I turned against Lucius, just because he broke under the torture I had caused." Atlas finally turned to catch Draco's gaze, piercing his soul. "Draco, Lucius is a hypocrite and a coward. But where do you think he learnt such tendencies from?"

"You're not a coward." Draco protested immediately. Atlas smiled, his eyes sad.

"Am I? Or is that what I wanted you to believe?"

Draco swallowed, looking up at Atlas with wide eyes, and was struck by the darkness in his blood father's brown orbs, too old for such a young face, like holes in a carefully constructed mask.

"Cunning, Draco. Cunning is the greatest weapon in a Slytherin's arsenal. I have always been deadly when using such a weapon."

"What Ambrosius is trying to say, Draco, is that we have both made mistakes. Our hands are not clean and I doubt they ever will be again. We believed our actions were the right decisions, some I will forever regret, others I will defend until my dying day."

"This wasn't a simple mistake you made though, was it? People died because of you."

Lucius flinched, before he clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He had to explain, he had to explain to Draco he didn't have a choice. No matter his pride, he had to say it. He had to explain what had really happened that night. Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Atlas jumped in before he could.

"Were you there Draco?" Atlas asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Were you there? Were you present when the Dark Lord tortured our friend, demanding that Lucius reveal the information?"

"Of course not."

"Neither was I. So how could we judge him when neither of us could possibly understand what led him to choose such a decision?"

Lucius whipped his head to stare at Atlas, a warmth building in his chest. Atlas met his eyes, and more meaning was conveyed in his gaze than words could even communicate. Somehow, Atlas knew. He knew everything. And he knew Lucius didn't want to share it with Draco. In that moment, Lucius felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the Dragonborn, even if he wasn't pleased about it.

"I won't ask for your forgiveness. All I ask, is for you to trust me, son. Trust me to protect you, to guide you." Lucius rose to his feet, looking down at his son. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Lucius offered his hand to help Draco up. After a slight hesitation, the boy took it.

"To be clear, I still hate you. You're a despicable human being."

"Despicable?" Lucius questioned, voice unnaturally hesitant as he avoided Draco's eyes.

"Yeah."

Atlas rolled his eyes. "He's joking, Lucius. Draco loves you, just like I said he does." Atlas chuckled, rising to his feet.

"I do not-" Draco protested, whirling around to send Atlas a fiery glare.

"Fine, you hate us both. We hate you too, kid. Now let's go home, before your mother comes riding in on an Arabian and cursing our behinds so hard that we all end up in St Mungo's." Atlas joked. Lucius watched as Draco seemed to wrestle with his anger, his murderous expression fixed on Atlas as the Dragonborn walked away.

"Now do you understand why sometimes I want avada him?" Lucius asked, an amused note to his usual drawl. Draco scowled.

"You're both as bad as each other." Draco muttered as they began to follow. When Draco noticed the way Lucius tried to hide a wince in pain, Draco frowned. "What happened?"

"You have Atlas' temper, it seems. It isn't the first time I have received a few broken ribs from the Dragonborn, and I doubt it will be the last." When Draco's face lit up with surprising concern, Lucius was quick to justify it. "I deserved it."

Draco swallowed, looking away. "Yes, you did."

Lucius licked his lips, fiddling with his cane. "Satisfied, then?"

"Not yet." Draco paused. "But maybe one day, Dad."

Draco ran off to catch up with Atlas. Behind him, a soft smile graced his father's face, softening the sharp, pointed Malfoy features.

* * *

The moment they arrived back at Malfoy Manor, Draco transformed immediately, prepared for his Mother embracing him as soon as the flames died. After Lucius had climbed off his back, Atlas returned to his human form as well, smiling at the huge weight that had lifted from the atmosphere around the four of them.

Before Atlas could follow Draco and Narcissa inside, he felt a tug on his arm, the firm grip halting him in his tracks. Frowning, Atlas turned to face Lucius, confusion marring his features as he met Lucius' eyes, which had turned a deadly cold.

"Lucius?"

"Don't touch her."

"What?"

"Don't pretend to be ignorant in the matter, Atlas. I know the way you look at her."

Atlas swallowed, glancing back at Narcissa anxiously, checking that she and Draco were far enough away that they wouldn't overhear.

"I don't know what you're talking about Lucius." Atlas denied, features impassive.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, his expression remaining cold. "Keep it that way." His tone sharp enough Atlas instantly picked up on the veiled threat. "I will move out of the way if you take Draco away from me. I could survive that. But don't you ever, _ever_ touch her."

Atlas didn't break away from Lucius' gaze. "I won't."

"Good." Lucius nodded, walking past Atlas up the steps, their shoulders brushing each other. Atlas closed his eyes, guilt and pain clenching his heart. After all, that fateful night when his parents and Ty had died had been the fallout of the carnage, not the catalyst.

"Lucius, wait." Atlas whirled round, Lucius stopping further up the steps, but refusing to turn around to face him. "How long have you known?" Atlas asked.

"How long have we known Narcissa?" Lucius countered, turning his head slightly so Atlas could hear his whispered words.

Lucius carried on up the steps leaving Atlas behind, frozen where he stood. In his mind's eye, Atlas could picture Narcissa back then, shyly carrying out a perfect curtsy as Andromeda introduced her. He could picture her soft, young features, untainted by the horrors of war, framed by her golden halo of hair, strands straying from the elegant up-do and shining in the light of the magnificent crystal chandeliers that could never compare to her. He could remember making her laugh, teasing her, flying with her, even after Lucius had started courting her. And for the first time, he understood the glances Lucius had given him in the later years, the cold shoulders and his unpredictable moods. He understood the way he and Lucius had slowly drifted apart, Lucius isolating himself, turning to his father and the Death Eaters, driven by an obsessive need to prove himself, even to his newly wedded wife. This was the intangible thing that was still left, the thing that held together the frayed bond even though it had been the catalyst that had begun its slow decay – it was the same thing that had stopped Atlas from killing Lucius in anger all those years ago, the same thing that stopped him now.

Narcissa.

Atlas watched as Lucius wrapped an arm around Narcissa's shoulders, leading her into the Manor. She turned, a slight frown of concern on her features as she looked down the steps at Atlas. Forcing himself to smile, Atlas sent a reassuring nod to communicate he was fine, finally moving forward. She didn't see how the smile slid off his face when she turned around.


	13. Prison Break

**AN: OK, I wasn't originally going to post another chapter so soon, but I kind of want people to know where this story is going. And now that finally all the set up and character context has been introduced, we can finally get along with the plot. And well, I think you guys are going to like where it goes.**

* * *

Chapter 13

Prison Break

Atlas nursed a tumbler full of firewiskey, hair stood up on end, looking distinctly charred and covered in soot. In a fit of frustration while training, Draco had learnt how to breathe fire and promptly directed the new skill at Atlas. Although fire could not harm a Dragonborn, even in human form, Atlas was not amused by the experience.

"You know, it was your fault. You pushed me." Draco seemed obligated to state. Atlas glared at the wall in front of him from his position in the armchair, determined to not look in Draco's direction. They were in the drawing room, waiting for both Lucius and Narcissa to arrive for afternoon tea.

'Yes, well I was unaware you were _that_ sensitive." Atlas snapped, taking a generous gulp of the alcohol.

"I am not sensitive." Draco pouted, folding his arms.

"Really? Out of the two of us, which of us was recently barbecued?" Atlas asked, this time turning to face Draco to send him a fiery glare. Draco's cheeks turned bright red as he tried to fall further into the two-seater.

"My, my. Now what do we have here?" A new voice intervened.

Atlas closed his eyes, as if in pain, before he opened them again. His glare could have burned through basilisk eyes this time.

"Lucius, I swear, if you say another word-"

"Oh, no." Lucius entered the room, lowering himself down into the armchair opposite Atlas. His apologetic tone did not match the mocking and rather amused expression on his face. "I wouldn't dare, Atlas, you being such a powerful Dragonborn... A Dragonborn covered in soot, that is. What on earth happened?"

"Draco learnt how to breathe fire." Atlas revealed through clenched teeth.

"Did he? You can certainly tell." Lucius drawled, though a small smirk was threatening to overtake his face. Atlas glared harder.

"I hate you."

"The feeling is completely mutual, Ambrosius."

"Atlas? What in Merlin's name happened?" Narcissa's voice cut through the room, her face horrified as she stood in the doorway. She immediately rushed in, intending to go to Atlas' side.

"Well at least someone's worried about me." Atlas muttered, taking another generous gulp of the alcohol.

"Lucius? What happened?" Narcissa asked as she got her wand out, already performing scanning charms on Atlas to determine his injuries.

"Our son, apparently." Lucius answered, pouring his own glass and taking a sip of the alcohol to hide his wide grin.

"Draco!" Narcissa reprimanded, turning to her son in anger.

"I'm not apologizing. He pushed me off the roof!" Draco pointed an accusing finger at Atlas.

"He did _what_? ATLAS!" She yelled in fury as she turned back to Atlas, who paled significantly.

"Your son was being a girl about the whole thing. I only gave him a nudge, he exaggerates." Atlas waved Draco's defense away, making the boy sit up straight in defiance.

"I was not being a _girl_. The Manor's over fifty feet high!" He snarled.

"You've dived from over hundred feet. What's the difference?" Atlas asked him, spreading his arms out.

"I was a dragon when I did it, that's the difference!" Draco jabbed a finger in Atlas' direction, clearly agitated.

"That and Draco has common sense, unlike some unfortunate souls." Lucius interrupted, sending a pointed glance at Atlas. In response, Atlas raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lets Go Join the Merry Death Eaters Club." Atlas shot back. Lucius' hand twitched, moving to his wand as the tension in the air reached critical.

"Boys! Stop it!" Narcissa moved in between the two men, cutting off their sight of each other. She turned to Atlas with concern written all over her face. "Atlas, are you all right?"

"He's fine." Lucius answered before Atlas could. He took another sip of his drink before continuing, his calm aurora returning. "He's complaining because he burnt his eyebrows a little. Actually, I think his hair is still smoking. Is that a glowing ember? Ahah!" Lucius commented, mockingly leaning over to try and inspect Atlas' hair, picking out a speck of glowing ash. Atlas swatted the hand away, his glare only intensifying.

"Watch it, Malfoy, or it'll be your hair that's smoking. Better yet, I'll burn it all off." Atlas growled, eyes shifting to that of a dragon for a few precious seconds. Lucius was not intimidated.

"I'd like to see you try, Ambrosius." Lucius growled back.

"And if you two don't stop right this instant, I'll lock you both in the attic and let you deal with the paintings. I'm sure they'd love to see you, especially since they'd remember you both from the last time you got stuck in there." Narcissa threatened, pointing an accusing finger at both Atlas and Lucius. The two men in question exchanged meaningful glances, their rivalry momentarily forgotten as they now eyed Narcissa with caution.

Both of them remembered the instance she referred too and neither had any intention of repeating it. Walburga Black's screaming painting had nothing on the paintings of the Malfoy ancestors.

"How do you even know about that?" Lucius finally asked, face once again composed, even if confusion fluttered behind his eyes.

"You forget, dear, that myself and your mother were quite civil. In fact, we often spoke since the poor woman had no one else to talk to. After a few glasses of wine, she had a very loose tongue." Narcissa explained, earning a scoff from Atlas as he took another swig of his drink.

"It was getting her to shut up that was the problem." Atlas muttered under his breath. Draco snorted. He quickly brought a hand up to cover his mouth as if he could hide his laughter behind it. Under the double glare from his parents, he quickly gained his composure, coughing awkwardly to hide his brief lapse in restraint.

"Well at least someone is amused." Lucius stated eventually.

"When it concerns your mother, Luci, many things were amusing."

Draco choked on his glass of water upon hearing the nickname. Lucius scowled harder.

"Don't call me that, Ambrosius."

"Why, what's the matter, Luci? Do you not like the nickname your mother gave you?" Atlas teased, a smug smile stretching across his face. Lucius smiled, a very, forced fake smile.

"Just remember two can play that game, AJ." Lucius commented, wiping the smug grin completely off Atlas's face.

"AJ?" Draco barked with laughter now, all restraint gone as he watched the scene play out in front of him. Lucius and Atlas were too busy glaring at each other to comment.

"Draco, be quiet. Lucius, Atlas – are you ever capable of agreeing with each other for civility's sake?" Narcissa asked, hands on her hips.

"Yes." Atlas answered, just as Lucius replied with "No".

Narcissa Malfoy gritted her teeth, sending her gaze to the ceiling as she tried valiantly not to lose her composure.

"I will only say this one more time: If any of you throw another insult or jeer at each other, you will severely regret your decision. Are we clear, gentlemen?" Narcissa growled out through her teeth, her tone sharp and full of under laying warning.

Both men nodded, albeit reluctantly with jaws clenched and veins ticking in their foreheads. Nonetheless, Narcissa seemed satisfied.

"Good." Narcissa straightened, lowering herself down to sit on one of the loveseats. She placed her hands in her lap, smoothing out her dress as she lifted her chin.

Seconds later one of the house elves, a female, entered the room carrying the afternoon tea on a silver tray. Everyone knew the poor thing had probably heard the entire conversation and had only entered once the Lady of the House had calmed down.

"Mimsy has tea, Mistress." The elf declared as it placed the beverages and cakes on the nearby tea table in the centre of the seating arrangement. Narcissa nodded her head slightly, the only acknowledgment of thanks the house elf would receive.

"Do you have the Daily Prophet from this morning, Mimsy?" Narcissa asked. None of them had been present for breakfast that morning, or lunch. Atlas had dragged Draco out of the Manor at the crack of dawn, determined to teach him how to hunt, a skill Draco saw no need for. Lucius had stayed overnight in London the night before so had not returned, and Narcissa had left early to meet friends and then Lucius in London. Therefore, none of them had seen the papers yet.

"Of course, Mistress." The house elf answered, and with a snap of her fingers, the Daily Prophet appeared next to the tray of tea. Narcissa, having already poured her own tea, began to stir it with a silver teaspoon as she picked the teacup up, bringing it to her lips to sip. Draco had snatched a cake off the tray, eating carefully while holding a plate underneath, while Lucius reached for his own tea. Atlas, however, reached for the newspaper, his eyes immediately drawn to the bold headline and even larger front-page photograph.

When he picked it up to get a closer view, opening the newspaper to view the article inside with curious eyes, his whole face scrunched up as he frowned deeply, his expression not unnoticed by the other occupants of the room.

"What is it?" Narcissa asked, frowning herself at the expression Atlas sported. Atlas raised his gaze from the paper to look at her, before closing the newspaper and folding it back in half, extending his arm to give it to her.

"Looks like your cousin escaped Azkaban." He stated in a monotone, all expression gone from his face. Raising her eyebrows, Narcissa placed the teacup back on her plate before taking the newspaper off Atlas and began reading it herself.

"Azkaban as in the Prison?" Draco asked, looking between his parents and Atlas.

His parents didn't answer, his mother too engrossed in the article to reply, while his father quickly moved to sit beside her so he could read it over her shoulder. Atlas ran a hand through his hair, eyeing the paper with a thoughtful gaze.

"A very secure prison. Some say even inescapable." Atlas confirmed, his tone still lacking the life it had contained only moments before.

"I wasn't aware you had a cousin, Mother." Draco stated, the implied question loud in the silence of the room.

"She doesn't. Sirius Black was disowned from the House of Black when he threw away his inheritance." Lucius corrected, disgust evident in his voice as he finished reading the article.

"He's a blood traitor?" Draco asked.

"He is, or was. A member of the Order of the Phoenix too, and best friends with James Potter no less. I believe they even made him Harry Potter's Godfather." His mother answered this time, closing the newspaper, a dazed expression on her face.

"So, why is he in Azkaban? What did he do?" Draco asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

"According to the Wizgamot, he was a Death Eater spy, the very same Death Eater spy who sold out James and Lily Potter's location, resulting in their deaths and the death of Peter Pettigrew, a wizard he later murdered along with over a dozen muggles." Atlas explained, his eyes fixed on the wall with an unnerving intensity.

"If Azkaban is inescapable, how did he get out?" Draco questioned, frowning in confusion.

"I have no idea, though Azkaban is clearly not as well guarded as the Ministry want us to believe, wouldn't you say, Atlas?" Narcissa aimed her question at Atlas, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else. He blinked a few times, lifting his gaze from the floor, before finally looking at Narcissa.

"Right. Yes."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. Can I have another look?"

"By all means." Narcissa handed him the newspaper and Atlas opened it swiftly, flipping through the pages as he scanned the articles and moving photographs, skimming through the information.

He completely stilled when his eyes landed on another photograph, linked to a different story other than Black's escape. It pictured a family, nine people in total including the parents, all showing smiles as they stood in front of a large Egyptian pyramid. Although the picture was in black and white, Atlas recognized the father and had no doubt all of the family members had flaming red hair in real life. But that had not been what had caught his attention. His eyes had been drawn to the rat perched on the youngest boy's shoulder, a rat that was missing one toe.

A very familiar rat, indeed.

Atlas' eyes narrowed. He lowered the newspaper onto his lap, his gaze moving to the floor as he got lost in his thoughts once again.

The other occupants had not seen his reaction, already changing the topic to when Draco was going to Diagon Alley to purchase his new school books and other essentials. His Hogwarts letter, detailing his list of textbooks for the year, had arrived this morning. Atlas himself did not say another word about Black, though his mind was full of rampaging thoughts for the rest of the hour.

" _Who do you think the traitor is?"_

" _I don't know Ambrosius, I don't know. At this point, I'm even starting to doubt Remus. You don't think-"_

" _No. Don't let Voldermort make you think like that, Black. If you do, he's already won."_

 _Black's shaky laugh filled Atlas's ears._

" _You just have to call him by name, don't you Ambrosius?"_

" _I'm not afraid of him. Why should I be? I have nothing left to lose."_

" _You're lucky then. Me, I have a lot to lose."_

" _Don't let fear control you, Black."_

" _Oh, I'm not. I'm the Gryffindor, remember?" He teased, his smile strained. There was a pause. "I won't give him that power over me."_

" _Of course not, Padfoot."_

" _Only my friends can call me that, Ambrosius."_

" _Good thing we're friends then, isn't it?"_

 _Atlas grinned, rewarded by a louder, more real laugh this time._

" _In your dreams, Ambrosius."_

Atlas swallowed, his eyes flicking back to the newspaper now placed on the side table to his right, Black's cackling photograph moving in the light. The dragon inside him hummed in agreement to his thoughts, its instincts thinking the same thing as the feeling Atlas felt inside his gut.

He had to find Black, before the Dementors found him first.

* * *

Draco gazed upon the huge glass shop window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, frowning at the huge crowd that had gathered inside. Lucius had accompanied Draco to Diagon Alley to buy all his necessary school essentials for third year and had left Draco to amuse himself while he went to take some galleons out of the family vault at Gringotts. Draco had already browsed through numerous shops, stopping at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour for a needed break, where he'd eagerly devoured a towering sundae that he had bought with his own galleons, sliver Sickles and bronze Knuts. Quality Quidditch Supplies was where he had agreed to meet his father, intending to buy a new broom cleaning kit while they were there.

Curious to know what the crowd in the shop were staring at, Draco edged his way inside and squeezed in amongst the excited witches and wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium on which was mounted the most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life. All around him the witches and wizards were talking excitedly to one another, trying to get a better look at the broom.

"Just come out...a brand new prototype..." a middle aged, square-jawed wizard explained to his companion.

"Is it the fastest broom in the world Dad? Is it really?" squeaked a young boy, who was pulling on his father's arm to try and pull him closer towards the broom.

"Near enough, kiddo. Only the Stormbreaker is superior to this one..." The father replied, kneeling down to his son's height so he could speak more clearly over the loud crowd.

His interest peaked at the mention of the Stormbreaker, Draco moved further forward, pushing past the witch in front of him. The witch cried out in anger, but Draco didn't bother with an apology, too excited by the mention of the Stormbreaker. It was an international-standard broom, the fastest and best Quidditch broom out there. They were so well designed that they weren't even for public sale, the company who made them selective about their clients. No infinite amount of galleons could buy them – he had asked for one for Christmas once, but even Lucius Malfoy couldn't pay off the suppliers. The CEO of the company personally selected the clients, taking into account Qiudditch skill, promise, career and experience. Quidditch players made up the majority of the list, and if you weren't on the list, you didn't get the opportunity to buy the broom. If this new broom on display was nearly as good as a Stormbreaker, then it was very impressive broom indeed.

"Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "And they're the favourites at the World Cup!"

Finally reaching the front of the crowd, Draco read the sign that was displayed next to the broom.

 _THE FIREBOLT_

 _This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a STREAMLINED, super- fine handle of ash, treated with a DIAMOND-HARD POLISH and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, giving The Firebolt UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE and PINPOINT PRECISION. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 0-150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS and incorporates an UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM._

 _PRICE ON REQUEST_

Price on request... That meant it was worth a lot of galleons then, not that it mattered to Draco. Lucius could probably buy a hundred Firebolts and not even make a dent in their family vault. Still, Draco wasn't even sure if he should bother to ask his father for it. He already had a perfectly good broom, a Nimbus Two-Thousand, and it seemed pointless to get a faster broom when he had already achieved such speeds without any broom at all – Draco was almost certain he'd reached over 200 miles per hour while diving in Dragon form. If he could do that without a broom, it kind of ruined the excitement of doing it _on_ a broom.

However, if he had a Firebolt for Hogwarts, he certainly wouldn't lose to Potter ever again. As the Slytherin Seeker, he needed the best broom out there, as he was the one who had to catch the snitch, which required skill itself. He certainly didn't want to repeat what happened last year. He was not going to lose against Potter. Not this time.

"Draco!" Lucius called, entering the shop. Draco turned at hearing his voice, immediately spotting his adoptive father's white hair among the heads of the crowd. He instantly made his way towards him, a plan already forming in his mind.

"Father!" Draco called as he approached, Lucius quickly spotting his adopted son as he emerged from the crowd.

"Draco, have you bought what you came here for?"

"Well, not yet but-"

"Then what are you wasting time for? We need to visit the apothecary to replenish your potions ingredients and visit Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions – you have surely grown out of your old school robes. I already told you we cannot waste time today as I have to meet someone tonight."

"I know, Father, it's just-"

"No buts, Draco. We still need to buy your spellbooks for this year as well, and I saw what they had on display in the window on the way here. Bloody Book of Monsters... Atlas and I should have never written the damn thing. Never thought it would come back to bite me in the arse..."

"What?"

"Never mind." Lucius muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Just hurry up and find that cleaning kit you wanted."

"I want something else as well."

"Like what?"

"They've got a new broom in stock, The Firebolt-"

"Draco, I'm going to stop you right there. You already have a perfectly decent broom. You don't need a new one."

"But Father, The Firebolt is better, it reaches up to 150 miles an hour in ten seconds! It's an international-standard broom! The proprietor said the Irish International Side just but in an order for seven!"

"An International-standard broom? Draco, you are not a Quidditch player. You're only competing against other students. You don't need a new broom to beat them – I only bought you a new one last year for Merlin's sake - in fact as I remember it, I bought the whole team new brooms."

"As a reward for getting accepted onto the team, something you didn't believe I could do!"

"That's not true!"

"Please, father! I'll be the only one with a Firebolt! Slytherin will win every match if I buy that broom. We'll win the Quidditch Cup!"

"If you can't win the Quidditch Cup without this new broom, then you certainly don't deserve it. Since you lost against Gryffindor last year, I'm starting to doubt that the broom is even the problem here."

Draco flinched at the jibe, shoulders slumping as his father's insult struck home. He didn't cower completely though, anger rising in his chest. As Lucius turned to leave the shop, Draco spoke before he could think about what he was saying.

"Atlas would have bought the broom for me."

Lucius froze. A heavy, daunting silence echoed as Draco watched his father's hands clench into fists, the grip on his cane so tight Draco thought it would snap. He whirled round, making Draco take an automatic step backwards upon seeing the fury painted on Lucius' face.

"Listen very carefully, Draco. I will not be goaded by Atlas Ambrosius. Do not mention this Firebolt ever again, understand?" Lucius growled out, voice low. He was too close to Draco's face, his words too close to a threat. Draco swallowed in fear.

"Yes, Father." Draco hung his head in submission.

"Good. Now get moving. We've wasted enough time as it is." Lucius ordered, grabbing him by the collar of his coat and pushing him towards the door. Draco barely kept himself on his feet due to the force, resisting the rebellious urge to plant his feet and refuse to move. He glanced back behind him, seeing the Firebolt still mounted on the podium, before a wizard moved in front of it, blocking his view. Draco turned back around, looking back up at Lucius. He looked furious, the kind of rage that was silent, boiling under the edge of your skin.

"What about the cleaning kit I wanted?" Draco weakly protested, quiet and submissive. He was hurt and disappointed at Lucius' quick refusal, knowing he had taken it too far. So he decided to settle for something else, in hope of brightening the situation. "I do need a new one."

Lucius stopped, staring down his nose at Draco for a few tense moments, before he looked away, sighing.

"Fine. But find it quickly." Lucius ordered, releasing Draco's collar from his iron grip. Knowing that he couldn't push his luck any further, Draco hurried to find the cleaning kit, disappearing down an aisle.

He reappeared seconds later, and after retrieving the money off his father, he quickly bought the item and handed it to Lucius, who called for their house elf to take it back to the Manor. Draco knew he had gone too far, had overstepped a line, but that didn't mean what Lucius had said had no effect on him. He followed behind his father in silence, head bowed, only speaking unless spoken too for the rest of the shopping trip. Madam Malkin seemed to sense the tension between the two Malfoys as soon as they walked into her shop, but she didn't mention it. Neither did the shopkeeper at the apothecary.

When they arrived at the bookstore, he got a surprise when he looked in the window. Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind the glass, which held a hundred copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters_. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.

Draco turned to ask Lucius if that was the book he needed for Care of Magical Creatures but stopped short when he saw the look on his father's face. Lucius was glaring at the sight of the monster spellbooks, looking murderous. That was when Draco remembered what Lucius had said in Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Father...didn't you say you and Atlas wrote that book?" Draco asked hesitantly, eyeing Lucius warily.

"It was supposed to be a joke."

"What?" Draco asked, confused. Lucius sighed, muttering under his breath.

"Atlas and I were in our sixth year. Atlas always complained while we were studying about how incompetent the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was. I suggested we create a book that would eat the teacher unless he proved to be as good at wrangling monsters as he claimed. Atlas didn't realise I was joking."

"You created the book on the basis of creating it to eat your teacher?"

"Atlas knew a lot about Magical Creatures - he needs to after all if he ever hopes to rule over them. We thought it would also make a good book for educating the other students of Hogwarts as well, since the teacher truly was ridiculously terrible. We sent him the book anonymously that Christmas. The book chewed a chunk out of his arm – the whole school talked about it for weeks afterwards."

"And they never found out who sent it?"

"We were Slytherins Draco. What was the point in pulling a prank if we ended up getting caught? Atlas and I covered our tracks well enough. We sent the other book we made off to be published anonymously. It seemed a good idea at the time."

"I can't believe you made a book that ate a teacher."

"I didn't-" Lucius started to protest but then caught the look in Draco's eyes. He was trying not to smile, avoiding his father's eyes. Forgetting their earlier argument completely, Lucius smiled himself and shook his head. "Don't get any ideas Draco."

"I don't know what you're talking about father."

"I know that smirk Draco. I had to live with it for seven years at Hogwarts whenever Atlas deemed it amusing to stir trouble. You're more like him than you think." Lucius commented, stepping into the bookstore. Draco stood frozen for a second, before he quickly followed his father in. The look in his father's eyes as he had said it, it hadn't been disgust or disappointment. It had looked like...amusement.

But that was impossible. Lucius Malfoy hated Atlas Ambrosius, and he hated Draco at times for reminding him of the man. Right?

"As they entered Flourish and Blotts, the manager came hurrying towards them. He was a broad-shouldered man, with a large, burly beard and had a crooked nose that had spectacles resting on it.

"Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get your new books?"

"Yes." Lucius answered for Draco, picking up a pompous tone in the presence of the wizard. "We need-"

"I know." the manager said impatiently. "Please move out of the way sir and I'll capture one for you." The man drew on a pair of very thick gloves as he moved past Lucius, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick and proceeded towards the door of the Monsters Books' cage.

"I swear, I'm never stocking these things again! It's been bedlam!" the manager said as he cautiously opened the door, pointing the stick inside to separate a book from the rest. "Whoever wrote this book is clearly missing his sanity! Why would you write a book that does nothing but want to bite everything? I've been bitten five times today already!"

Draco failed to stifle a laugh at the manager's remark about the creator's sanity, Lucius shooting him a cold glare.

"Come on, you menace...Gotcha!" the manager exclaimed as he pushed the isolated book towards him with the stick, finally succeeding in grabbing it. It wrestled in his grasp, and he hurriedly shut the door with the heel of his foot as he stepped out the cage.

But the book wasn't giving up. Before the manager managed to secure it, it squirmed out of his hold, biting the man in the process, falling with a loud thud to the floor. It flipped onto its edge while the manager cursed and scuttled sideways across the floor like a weird crab before the man could stop it.

Draco let out a shriek as the book snapped at his feet as it scuttled past, while Lucius leapt completely out of the way. The manager shouted a mix of curses and apologies as he made to chase after it, but Lucius stopped him by raising his cane to block his path.

"I'll get it, you bumbling fool. Make sure that cage is locked." Lucius ordered, making the manager frown.

"But sir-" Lucius shot the man a glare, halting the man's speech. Then he lowered his black cane, stalking after the runaway book. The manager took it as the cue to check the cage, and Draco followed his father.

Lucius managed to capture and restrain the book much more quickly than the manager had. As he tightened his hold on the book, gritting his teeth, he turned to Draco to ask him a question.

"Is the manager looking, Draco?"

"No." Draco answered after sparing a glance to the manager, who was currently putting numerous locking spells on the cage containing the rest of Monsters Books. He sent his father a confused glance, but Lucius didn't see it.

"Good." Lucius wrestled with the book, flipping it so he had access to its spine. Then, more gently than Draco had ever seen, Lucius stroked the spine of the book and it instantly calmed. It opened without rebellion, and after admiring the pages for a few seconds to make sure it wasn't damaged, Lucius closed the large book, and this time it didn't try to run away.

"How did you do that?"

"It's the key to opening it. Atlas insisted on it being the main feature –supposedly it symbolised something or other. I can't remember what, but I doubt it was important."

"Why didn't you want the manager to see?"

"He called myself and Atlas insane Draco. Did you really think I would reveal the key to ending his suffering after that?" Lucius pointed out, a smirk crawling across his face.

"No."

A loud ripping noise rent the air; two of the Monster Books had seized a third and were pulling it apart.

"Stop it! Stop it!" cried the manager, poking the walking stick through the bars of the cage and knocking the books apart.

He tried not to laugh at the sight, but then he met his father's eyes, which were full of mirth and vindictive mischief. He couldn't help laughing out loud, and even Lucius stifled a laugh of his own.

When they left Flourish and Botts ten minutes later, Draco's new books on Divination and other subjects under his arms with Lucius holding the Monster Book of Monsters, both of them were still smiling.


	14. The Dementor

Chapter 14

The Dementor

Draco packed his suitcase, carefully placing all his new spell books inside. The case had an extension charm on it, as well as a weightless one, so he didn't need to worry about overfilling it. He'd already packed all the clothes he needed, school robes and casual clothes – well, if you could call his wizard robes casual.

Today was the last day of the summer holidays and tomorrow he was going to board the Hogwarts Express once again. He should be excited, but as Draco placed the last of his books in his suitcase, one about the Dragon World he planned to read at Hogwarts, all he could feel was anxiety. All summer Atlas had prepared him for it, taught him how to walk among the other students without losing control and turning into a ten foot, scaly, fire-breathing lizard. But losing control wasn't what Draco feared.

He wasn't a Malfoy. It had taken him two weeks to call Lucius his father again to the man's face after repetitive prompting from his mother, but in the safety of his own mind, Draco still saw him as Lucius. Not father. Not yet. He didn't see Atlas as his father either, even though he had spent most of the summer around the man.

And that was the problem. He didn't feel like he was anybody's son. He felt like a fake Malfoy. He hadn't known Atlas long enough to feel like an Ambrosius. How could he return to Hogwarts and see all his fellow housemates, hear them call him Malfoy, and not say anything? How would he bear it? How could he continue with his daily routine, walking to class and eating in the Great Hall, knowing what he was, who he pretended to be, was a lie?

Slytherins were known for their cunning, known for not being shy when it came to lying to someone's face. But this lie was too personal, too large, and Draco didn't know if he could live with it. He had grown up feeling entitled to everything because he was a Malfoy. Even now, weeks after he had found out, a part of him felt like a disgrace to the Malfoy line, a half-breed. How could he feel safe, even trust anyone, when he knew if they found out what he truly was, they'd turn on him? That they would fear him?

Draco clutched the sides of the suitcase, putting all his weight on his arms as he leant forward, eyes squeezed shut. He clenched his jaw, trying to calm down. When he opened his eyes, he jumped away in shock from the suitcase, eyes fixed on his hands.

Razor-sharp white claws had emerged from his fingers, cutting claw marks into the sides of the suitcase. Maybe he needed to worry about losing control after all.

"Are you all right, Draco?"

Draco whirled at the sound of Atlas' voice, shoving his hands behind his back quickly before the man could see them. But the action itself was enough to make Atlas suspicious.

"I'm fine." Draco answered, knowing Atlas wouldn't believe him even as he said it.

The man narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. He moved forward into Draco's suite, eyes moving to the suitcase Draco had finished packing, which was sat on the edge of his bed. Draco watched as Atlas moved towards it, coming to stop in front the bed and suitcase, taking in the neatly packed clothes and books, as well as other trinkets that he needed for Hogwarts. Draco swallowed his nerves when he saw Atlas pause momentarily, eyes fixed on the scratches on the suitcase that came from Draco's claws. He turned raising an eyebrow at Draco, who refused to look at him.

Not saying a word, Atlas closed the suitcase, clicking the locks shut. His fingers traced the claw marks as his other hand drew his wand, a low 'repario' uttered from his lips. The magic flowed onto the suitcase, pulling the cut leather of the case back together, restoring it to its former glory. Then he turned around to face Draco, who still refused to look at him.

"Show me your hands Draco." Atlas ordered quietly. Draco slowly brought his hands out from behind his back, the white claws still visible on his fingers. Atlas carefully took hold of one of his hands, lifting it up so he could get a better look at the claws.

"I'm sorry, I just – I lost control and –"

"What are you apologizing for?" Atlas demanded, frowning down at him, cutting Draco off quickly.

"I damaged the suitcase." Draco murmured, expression confused.

"Which I fixed. No harm done Draco." Atlas reassured, a kind smile on his face. It immediately put Draco at ease. "Come on, remember what I taught you. Take a deep breath, find your anchor…"

Draco did as Atlas instructed, taking a deep breath as he drew the bond that he had with Atlas closer. The presence calmed him, and when he brought memories of his mother to the forefront of his mind, he relaxed completely, the claws shifting back to normal fingernails.

"Now, was that so hard?" Atlas teased, smiling down at him.

"What if it happens at Hogwarts? What if I lose control?" Draco asked anxiously, tearing his hands away from Atlas' grip. How could he be so calm about this? It infuriated Draco, only serving to increase the intensity of his frayed nerves.

"You won't. And even if your control slips, remember what I taught you. You handled it quite well just now."

"But what if-"

"Look." Atlas grabbed Draco's shoulders, locking his gaze with his. "Even if, and that's a big _if_ , you lose control, just make an excuse and get out of the school. Go to the Forbidden Forest. Or the Room of Requirement."

"The Room of Requirement? Where's that?"

"On the seventh-floor corridor. Pace the corridor whilst thinking about what you want – say a room that's large enough to transform in – and the door with appear. The room appears to those who require it."

"How do you know that?"

"I know things." Atlas responded vaguely. Draco opened his mouth to ask another question, annoyed that Atlas was avoiding answering directly again, but Atlas spoke before he got the chance. "Don't worry about losing control Draco. You'll be fine." He patted him on the shoulder, before moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Doubtful." Draco muttered.

"Where's your optimism?" Atlas teased, grinning at his blood son. Draco groaned, rubbing his eyes as he fell, rather than sat, onto his bed. If his mother had been in the room, she would have yelled at him for damaging the mattress in such a way. Atlas was rubbing off on him.

"Ran off. Same day my ignorance of my heritage did." Draco deadpanned, avoiding Atlas' gaze. His mood had soured even further at the jibe, making Atlas instantly sense it. The man seemed to observe him in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"This isn't about losing control, is it Draco?" Atlas asked cautiously, making Draco sigh. He didn't answer straight away, trying to find the right words to say.

"How can I go back to Hogwarts and pretend nothing has changed, Atlas? How can I hang out with all the other Slytherins and pretend I'm still a Malfoy?"

"You were always a Malfoy, Draco. You still are."

"No, I'm not. I don't think I ever was." Draco sighed, falling back onto his bed. He stared up at the bed canopy, eyes glazed over as his thoughts travelled elsewhere. Atlas didn't say anything, knowing by now that Draco wasn't finished.

"I always felt different, you know? From everyone else." Draco turned his head when he felt Atlas lay down beside him, meeting the man's eyes. "When I was five, father scheduled a play date with the other pureblood children. Pansy and Theo. I had a tantrum, when it was time for them to leave."

"I know. Narcissa told me about it at the time. She had to convince me not to come over." Atlas explained quietly. Draco turned to him in surprise, having not expected it. How many times had his mother contacted Atlas? How many times had Atlas been close to breaking the deal with his father and revealing everything? For not the first time, Draco wondered what it would have been like growing up as an Ambrosius and not a Malfoy.

He continued speaking before he could dwell on it, swallowing the emotion that rose in his throat.

"My magic blew out all the windows on the second floor of the Manor. Every single one. It terrified the others at the time – even Theo's father, who I don't think had ever seen such powerful accidental magic in a child before. Pansy flinched away from me for weeks afterwards. I don't think they would still remember it now, but I do. As clear as it was yesterday."

"Father was so angry. I had to stay inside my room for a week as punishment and didn't see anyone except the house elves and my mother. He took away all my toys – even my broom – refusing to give them back until I had redeemed myself. I never did it again."

"It was an accident, Draco."

"But it was only that powerful because I'm a Dragonborn, right?"

"Our magic is more feral, instinctive, so yes."

"There were other things too. Subtle things. When I got a bit older, Mother convinced Father to take me to a Dragon Sanctuary in Romania as a birthday present. I was so excited. We took some of my friends too, got three extra tickets."

"What happened?"

"I started screaming when we got there. I didn't understand why they were in cages, the dragons. It just made me so…so _angry_."

"They're our kin, Draco. We share blood with the dragons of this world. They shouldn't be shackled or enslaved. A subconscious part of you understood that."

"But that's the point, isn't it? I was always different, and deep down, I knew that. They weren't protecting me from the truth, from feeling different - they were just stopping me from understanding _why_ I was different. For years, I've done everything they asked me to do, acting as a Malfoy, trying to be what everyone expected me to be. It never changed a thing."

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again, Draco – they were only doing what they thought was best for you. They may have made the wrong decision, but they had the nobliest intentions." Atlas calmly pointed out, making Draco scoff.

"Their noble intentions haven't done me much good. And neither have yours." Draco snapped, sitting up abruptly. Atlas recoiled, keeping his distance as he sat up, almost as if Draco had physically slapped him.

Draco sighed, hanging his head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"No, I think you did." Atlas argued, tone hard. He released a long breath of air, running a hand through his thick hair. His eyes softened. "But it's okay. I deserved it."

"I just – how can I go back to Hogwarts, Atlas? How can I pretend to be one of _them_?"

"Draco, I can't really help you with that. But I will ask you this: how can you expect other people to accept what you are, when you can't even accept it yourself?" Atlas asked softly, looking up to meet Draco's eyes. Draco's shoulders slumped in defeat, his gaze returning to the floor. Atlas stood up, pushing off the bed before turning to face Draco again.

"Just think about, alright? In the meantime, I've got something for you." Atlas stated, reaching into an inside pocket in his robes and bringing a flat object out, wrapped in grey fabric. Draco looked up, frowning at the sight of it.

"What is it?"

"It's a mirror." Atlas replied, unfolding the fabric to reveal the reflective surface. "Specifically, a Scrying Mirror, used for communication. This one is part of a pair – I have the other one."

"And that's for me?"

"Yes. Lucius doesn't know I'm giving you this, and I'd appreciate if you didn't tell him."

"An opportunity to lie to my Father? Count me in."

"I don't want you to be alone, Draco. This way, you can talk to me."

"You're not going to tell really bad jokes through this, are you?"

"No. And what do you mean really bad jokes? I have a brilliant sense of humor."

"You wish."

"You should use it. To activate it, just speak the words that are engraved round the edge and speak my name. I'll answer any questions you have."

"Is that in Dragon Tongue?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

"No, no I know what it means. I can read it."

"Well, at least we know you not a completely incompetent student." Atlas mocked playfully, ruffling Draco's hair. Draco looked up and smiled, a lingering sadness still in his eyes. Atlas noticed it quickly.

"You'll be fine Draco."

"I hope so."

"Good luck." Atlas squeezed Draco's shoulder one more time in reassurance, before moving away. "I won't see you tomorrow, so I thought I would say goodbye now. However, I'll be waiting for your call, Draco."

"I'll see you at Christmas though, right?"

"Of course. You can't get rid of me that easily." Atlas smiled, and this time, the smile that Draco returned reached his eyes.

"See you later then."

"Good luck, Draco."

* * *

The next day, Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express. He'd left his owl, Artemis, in the Malfoy Owlery so she could fly to Hogwarts on her own. There was no point keeping her cooped up on the train and it saved him carrying her cage. His Mother had seen him off at the Station, but his father had not come with them. Their trip to Diagon Alley had been one of the few times Draco had seen him, Lucius too preoccupied with ministry work as everyone worked themselves into a frenzy over Black's escape. On top of that, he was still fuming over the diary and the embarrassment of being tricked into freeing his own house elf, so Draco doubted that his father wanted to see Potter on the platform, even if it was by accident.

Draco didn't ask for much. Okay, that was a lie – he asked for a lot of things. But trinkets and gifts bought with the Malfoy galleons didn't matter to him. Not like seeing his father did. Atlas, true to his word, had left before he set off for the station. Lucius had made it explicitly clear he wanted Atlas nowhere near Draco in public, concerned about the Malfoy reputation more than anything else. He never asked what _Draco_ wanted, not when it involved silly notions like wanting his father – either Lucius or Atlas, he really didn't care - to see him off to Hogwarts.

 _Reputation_ _, what a joke._ Draco thought bitterly, lifting his trunk up onto the storage rack with ease. He must have used a little too much force as the rack rattled as the trunk slammed down onto it, making the walls shake. He really needed to reign in his anger.

This time last year he would have agreed with Lucius. Reputation was always the priority. Now, knowing he was the result of a need to keep an old reputation intact, the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Crabbe and Goyle were in the compartment with him, along with Theo Nott. Blaise, who he hadn't seen much of since he'd first come to Hogwarts, was in another carriage and Pansy was with the other Slytherin girls in their year. The seven of them had been close at one point, but when he'd arrived at Hogwarts he'd gone off with Crabbe and Goyle seeking trouble around every corner.

"I'm going for a walk." Draco announced to the other occupants of the compartment, making his way to the door. Theo looked up from the book he was reading for a second, before returning his gaze back to the worn pages, clearly uninterested. Crabbe and Goyle stood up from their seats and Draco internally groaned.

"We'll come with you, Draco." Crabbe declared.

Draco ignored him but made no move to stop them both from following him. He'd first gravitated towards them because he had been a small eleven-year-old, who easily manipulated them to his advantage. Now, having gone through a growth spurt and having gained inhuman abilities, he had no need of them. Not that anyone else knew that.

The three of them left the compartment, Draco in the lead. He hadn't had a specific agenda in mind when he decided to get out of the compartment, only knowing he needed a break from the small cramped space. Since his dragon had emerged inside him, he had become more restless than before. He needed to stretch his legs.

As he walked down the corridor, the rain outside the window blurring the image of the rolling hills, Draco's hearing picked up familiar voices coming from the compartment ahead. He smirked, increasing his pace.

"Well, look who it is," Draco said in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly behind him, and he took a certain pleasure in seeing the faces of the occupants instantly drop at the sight of him.

"I hear your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Draco. "Did your mother die of shock?"

Weasley stood up so quickly that he knocked the ugly orange cat to the floor, which hissed in offense. A sleeping figure snorted loudly in the corner.

"Who's that?" Draco asked upon spotting the man, automatically taking a step backwards.

"New teacher." Potter said scowling, not appreciative of his slight on Weasley. He had stood up too, no doubt in case he needed to hold back the hot-headed Weasley fool.

Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if Potter was lying or not. His father had mentioned a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher though…

"C'mon" he muttered resentfully after a few tense seconds, knowing it would be foolhardy to try anything under a teacher's nose.

He turned to leave, Crabbe and Goyle having already walked out, when he caught a scent of something in the air, his heightened senses picking it up. He briefly glanced back at the teacher, who was still sleeping peacefully – was it coming from him?

"Got something else to say, Malfoy?"

Draco tore his gaze away from the teacher to look at Granger, who was glaring at him defiantly. Her head of curls looked just as messy as he remembered it, but something had changed. His dragon was unnaturally calm when faced with her magical presence. He frowned, confused by her and all the scents he was picking up.

He could smell the ugly cat, certainly. He could hear it too, hissing at him from its place inside the basket, which it had retreated too as soon as it had seen him. Atlas had said animals could sense what he was. But, funnily enough, he could also smell… wet dog?

The compartment stank of it and now he really concentrated on it, it was clear it was coming from the teacher. There was also a faint smell of something else that Draco couldn't place. Since it was coming from Weasley, Draco guessed it was probably just the smell of poverty.

"Just that this compartment reeks of wet dog. You should really take hygiene more seriously, Granger."

Weasley lunged for him, a snarl on his face and red with anger, but Draco was quicker, leaping out of the way. He darted through the open door before Weasley could stop him and slammed it shut in Weasley's face. He sent him a cheery wave before he raced down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle hot on his heels. He didn't need Dragonborn senses to hear Weasley scream his surname in fury after him.

* * *

The rain thickened as the train sped further north, the windows now a solid, shimmering grey, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life along the corridors and over the luggage racks.

" _BLACK STILL AT LARGE"_

' _Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today…'_

Draco was jolted as the train shook from side to side in the pouring rain. He looked up from his newspaper, glaring in annoyance at the opposite wall. They were almost at school now, and he was back in his compartment. Across from him sat Goyle who was pigging out on the sweets they had all bought from the trolley lady while Crabbe was asleep, snoring loudly to the side. The shaking of the train jolted the sleeping boy, but didn't wake him, only making him mumble incoherently before returning to his previous snoring state. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Theodore Nott sat directly beside him with another novel. They didn't say anything to each other, just the way Draco liked it. Theo always knew when to keep his mouth shut.

' _While muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.'_

Draco threw the newspaper onto the seat next to him, choosing to stare out the window instead of reading the rubbish, his head resting in his hand. There was something almost hypnotic about watching the rain fall and pelt the windows, dribbling down the glass. It calmed him and helped settle the headache that had seemed to emerge after reading words in the paper for too long.

Suddenly the train jutted to a halt. It was only Draco's fast reflexes that stopped his neck from snapping forwards but Nott wasn't so lucky. His book flew out of his hands and smacked Crabbe in the face, waking him up from his slumber. Draco sneered at the sight of seeing drool still glistening on the boy's face, a remnant of his nap.

"Wots' happenin?" he grunted, rubbing his eyes.

As if on cue, all the lanterns went out and the room was plunged into total darkness. Draco had to suppress the urge to let his eyes shift, to give him back his sight. He didn't need his eyes acting as reptilian glowsticks. The idiots would probably scream.

"The lights!" Goyle shouted, standing up and stumbling over some fallen luggage.

Like he said: _idiots_.

Draco got out his wand. "Lumos," he whispered, the tip of his wand glowing brightly, illuminating the compartment. Nott quickly followed suit while Crabbe and Goyle stared around blindly.

"We can't be there yet. It's too soon." Nott murmured, Draco silently agreeing with him.

Suddenly the train shook. "Someone's getting on the train." Draco stated, a sense of foreboding twisting in his gut. Nott stood up too, obviously thinking along the same lines. They all listened for any indication of what was happening, but they were only met with silence. Draco waited a few seconds longer before his patience finally fell away.

"I'm going to see what's happening." He declared, making a decision. Theo looked at him as if he had grown another head.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Theo asked incredulously. Draco couldn't blame him. A second year Draco certainly wouldn't venture out of the safety of the compartment, but Draco was different now. He was a Dragonborn. What could possibly hurt him?

"Opposed to what? Sitting here in the dark?" Draco shook his head, moving to the compartment door with a scowl on his face. "This is absolutely ridiculous, no lights, stopping when we're nearly there... My father would not stand for it. Somebody has to find out what's going on." Draco ranted, opening the door. He frowned further when Goyle moved to join him. "No, stay here. I'm fine on my own."

Draco left the compartment, shutting the door behind him before the others could chose to follow. The corridor was completely deserted.

What in Merlin's name was going on?

Draco took a few steps forward up the corridor, before stopping to glance out of one of the windows. It was pitch black outside, an infinite inky well of darkness that Draco couldn't see clearly through. Was something moving out there? Maybe if he concentrated, he could shift his eyes and see what it was…

Draco froze. He leaned back as he noticed the window beginning to fog up, ice creeping along the glass with unnerving speed. He took a step back, and after a quick glance down the rest of the corridor, it seemed the frost was starting to crawl across not just the windows, but the walls too. Draco felt the temperature of the corridor drop below zero, his breath coming out in silver clouds before his eyes. The cold went deeper than his skin, right into his very chest, freezing the fire in his blood that pumped through his heart.

Inside him, the dragon snarled and raised its hackles, and Draco had a hard time keeping a firm grip on his control. "This can't be good..." He whispered fearfully.

Then, with agonizing slowness, the carriage door slid open, revealing a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. A hand had a firm grip on the doorframe, the only thing protruding from the cloak as it moved inside the compartment, the hand itself a deathly grey, like something that had decayed in water.

A Dementor.

Draco had heard about them and had even seen pictures of them, but none of that really compared to the real thing. He never thought he'd meet one, and as he watched it take a long, slow, rattling breath, he remembered why he had never _wanted_ to meet one.

' _They must be here to check the train,'_ he chanted in his mind. _'They're searching for Sirius Black and they'll go away when they don't find him. They'll go away!'_

The Dementor crept further into the corridor.

Draco backed up, pressing his body flat against the wall. He watched as it moved like a ghost, it's body drifting silently through the air as it looked around the small area, looking into each compartment window. It looked like it was about to leave, but then it stilled when it saw Draco.

Internally, Draco swore.

Suddenly it moved towards him, and Draco didn't even have time to think before his head felt like it was splitting open, the Dementor feeding off him – draining him.

Draco felt his bond with Atlas spark to life, his blood father obviously sensing his fear. As soon as the bond opened, the Dementor leapt forward, and Draco was suddenly assaulted by memories that weren't his, voices and feelings mixing together in an overwhelming storm of chaos.

Sorrow and despair flooded over him like a tidal wave. Draco was not himself. He was viewing everything from another person's eyes, but the emotions were that strong he could hardly tell the difference.

" _Wake up, please wake up!" He heard himself cry, cradling a body in his arms._

" _Father, please, don't go…don't leave me…please." He begged, tears flowing down his face. He looked up, and that was when he saw the other body – the woman._

 _Scrambling to his feet, he ran over to her, leaving the other body behind._

" _No, no, no…" He repeated over and over as he fell beside her, a hand reaching for her face._

 _His fingers came away red._

 _Her throat was ripped apart, blood covering her skin like a crimson blanket, dripping onto the floor and pooling up beneath her. Her eyes were blank, staring at nothing._

" _No," He begged. Then rage filled him, as hot as the fires of hell._

" _NO!" Atlas screamed._


End file.
